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History   3 
1927-28 


TANNHAUSER. 


MOBILE,  ALA.:   PRINTED   AT  THE  REGISTER   &  ADVERTISER  BOOK  AND   JOB   OFFICE. 

I 


TANNHAUSER; 


OR, 


®k*  iattlrof  t\u  Wixnh. 


%  1§0im 


BY 


NEVILLE  TEMPLE,  and  EDWARD  TREVOR. 


'4927 


MOBILE: 

PUBLISHED  BY  S.  II.  GOETZEL  &  CO.,  33  DAUPIIIN  STREET. 

1863. 


The  reader  is  solicited  to  adopt  the  German  pronunciation  of  Tannhausee,  by  sounding 
it  as  if  it  were  written,  in  English,  "  Tannhoiser." 


»u 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTICE. 


Before  going  to  press,  with  this  admirable  Poem,  wo  esteem  it  our  duty  to  express  our 
sincere  thanks  to 

WALKER    FEARN,    Esq., 

to  whose  great  kindness  we  are  indebted  for  a  copy  of  the  English  edition, 
At  the  same  time  we  beg  leave  to  call  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  an  able  critique  of 

the  London  Times,  and  have  only  to  regret  that  we  cannot  avail  ourselves  of  all  the  other 

criticisms,  which  appeared  in  all  the  English  papers  and  periodicals,  in  praise  of  this  extra-. 

Ordinary  work  of  genius  and  art. 
The  names  on  the  Title-page  are  only  assumed ;  the  authors  in  reality  are,  one  a  Bon  of 

Bulwer,  Secretary  to  the  English  Embassy  at  Vienna,  and  the  other  Julian  Fane,  the  sou 

of  Lord  Westmoreland. 

Mobile,  AlA.,  February,  1863. 


14927 


TANNHAUSER. 


When  Dryden  lay  dying,  be  is  said  to  have  expressed  deep  regret  and  remorse  for  all 
the  licentious  and  corrupt  passages  which  defaced  his  noble  writings.  Convert  to  a  faith 
which  offers  to  the  suffering  soul  the  panacea  of  huniau  absolution,  he  nevertheless  groaned 
in  spirit.  Invested  monarch  of  other  men's  minds  by  right  of  supreme  ability,  he  died 
conscious  that  he  had  been  an  unfaithful  ruler  of  his  subjects.  The  words  in  which  ho 
made  the  tardy  admission  that  authorship  is  a  trust  for  which  writers  will  be  held  account- 
able, are  disputed.  Johnson  says  that  "  his  contemporaries,  however  they  reverenced  his 
genius,  left  his  life  unwritten,  and  nothing,  therefore,  can  be  known,  beyond  what  casual 
mention  and  uncertain  tradition  have  supplied."  But  the  broad  facts  remain  that,  even  in 
the  loose  and  profligate  age  for  which  he  wrote,  he  was  virulently  assailed  for  the  extraor- 
dinary profligacy  of  his  writings;  that  one  of  his  comedies  was  prohibited  after  the  third 
night,  as  too  indecent  for  the  stage  ;  and  that  in  his  preface  to  his  latest  literary  task,  tho 
Fables,  while  repelling  the  censures  of  Blackmore  and  Milbourne,  and  more  especially  of 
Collier,  Dryden  thus  expresses  himself: 

"I  have  pleaded  guilty  to  all  thoughts  or  expressions  of  mine  that  can  truly  be  accused 
of  obscenity,  immorality,  or  profaneness,  and  retract  them.  If  he  be  my  enemy,  let  him 
triumph ;  if  he  he  my  friend,  he  will  be  glad  of  my  repentance." 

That  such  a  writer  should  need  repentance  for  the  legacy  he  bequeathed  from  the  vanish- 
ing riches  of  his  mind  to  his  fellow-men,  is  a  sorrowful  thought;  it  is  also  an  enduring 
lesson.  It  gives  us,  as  the  opinion  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  depart. id  writers,  thai  the 
mastery  of  authorship  is  not  to  be  prostituted,  either  for  the  mere  earning  <>t'  bread,  the 
flattery  of  the  great,  or  the  p'andering  to  the  fluctuating  taste  of  the  public  If  if  is  a  trade, 
it  should  be  an  honest  trade;  if  a  power,  a  power  loyally  exercised j  if  a  mere  companion 
ship  of  mind,  a  decent  companionship. 

The  days  of  that  excessive  profligacy  in  writing' are  over.  The  great  master  Dryden, 
and  the  Congreves,  and  Vanbrughs,  and  Beaumonts,  and  Fletchers,  whose  license  met  no 
check  in  the  diseased  appetite  of  reckless  applaudere,  have  ceased  to  Dnd  imitators  or  sue 

cessors.     After  them   rose  a  divided  empire  of  calm  idealists  and   poets  Of  passion  and  ac 

tion ;  and  after  them  the  variety  of  schools  belonging  to  the  generation  immediately  preceding 

our  own,  when  Byron  and  Scott,  Hoore  and  Wordsworth,   Southey  and  Campbell,  Crahbe 

and  Coleridge,  entranced,  allured,  or  wooed  attention  in  turn;  when  young  gentlemen 
yearned  to  be  Corsairs,  with  a  Medora  waiting  for  them  in  Borne  island  they  didn't  know 

win-re;   or  sang,  in  various  keys,  Anacreontic   snatches   by  the  reviver  of  Irish  melodic-,  i 

while  the  mole  serious  dwell  thought  tally  on  tin-  graver  page  of  "tlu  grey  old  man  of 
Etydal  Mount,"  who  taught  that 

'•  The  sent  t hal  rides  with  u     nur  life' 
II  itli  liai]  elM  wl.i-i 

-      lie  III    i  loin 
Not     Utile    I.UJ.   II,,!,, 

And  not  in  tilt,  r  a  k<  Ji 
tint  trailing  sloudi  -I  elm  ^  d< 
Krotn  God,  who  I    oui  home." 


It  is  not  too  wild  a  boast  to  assert  that  among  the  writers  of  the  generation  now  immedi- 
ately present  with  ns,  something  of  the  best  of  all  the  past,  and  nothing  of  the  worst, 
abides,  and  satisfies  at  once  the  reason  and  the  imagination.  A  school  has  risen  up  among 
us — moral  in  sentiment,  passionate  in  diction,  romantic  in  its  themes — whose  tranquil  boast 
it  well  may  be  (whatever  be  its  other  defects),  that  its  poetry  cannot  be  read  and  pon- 
dered over  by  the  young  and  enthusiastic  without  raising  and  purifying,  instead  of  confusing 
and  corrupting.  It  is  not  underrating  the  author  of  The  Corsair,  Lara,  and  Parisina,  to 
eay  that  the  productions  of  this  later  school  are  a  vast  improvement  .on  his  rhymed  ro- 
mances ;  nor  insulting  even  to  the  author  of  Childe  Harold,  to  assume  that  an  element  is 
now  introduced  that  would  have  enhanced  the  value  even  of  that  masterly  production — the 
element  of  power  for  good  over  the  minds  of  the  young.  The  shadow  and  the  glory  that 
belonged  to  Milton  nicker  over  the  deep-toned  strings  of  Tennyson's  harp,  leader  of  all  the 
sounds  of  poetry  hi  our  land.  Better  than  many  sermons  is  the  fine  address  which  the 
Laureate  puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  King  Arthur  to  fallen  Guinevere.  Better  than  many 
lectures  on  fortitude  is  Longfellow's  lovely  exhortation  to  "  suffer  and  be  strong."  Better 
than  all  the  prosaic  advice  that  could  be  given  "to  persons  about  to  marry,"  the  pure  and 
simple  picture  of  domestic  life  by  the  mnch-criticised  Coventry  Patmore ;  nor  will  those 
even  who  object  to  the  peculiarities  of  a  style  combining  much  of  the  homeliness  of 
Crabbe  with  sweeter  music  and  a  far  higher  range  of  thought,  dispute  the  fact  that  a  better 
landmark  was  set  on  the  shores  of  time  when  Patmore  published  the  poem  entitled  The 
Angel  in  the  House,  than  when  Moore  took  an  obscure  Scriptural  text  for  his  fabulous  Loves 
of  the  Angels,  or  when  the  same  theme  furnished  matter  for  Byron's  semi-blasphemous 
Heaven  and  Earth. 

The  poem  which  stands  for  notice  at  the  head  of  this  article  is  indisputably  "Tennyso- 
nian."  It  has  been  said  that  it  is  an  imitation  of  Tennyson.  If  it  were  so,  we  might  an- 
swer, "  Honi  soil  qui  mal  y  pense."  Wordsworth  admitted  that  when  he  first  began  to 
write,  he  carefully  studied  Pope,  for  the  express  purpose  of  imitating  him,  and  hoped  he  had 
done  something  "  a  little  in  his  style."  We  must  all  write  in  the  language  of  our  country 
and  of  our  time,  and  the  greatest  writers  of  that  time  will  always  exercise  a  special  and 
varying  control  over  the  general  rule  which  governs  composition.  Tannhaeuser  belongs 
to  the  day  in  which  Tennyson  writes.  Be  it  so.  The  orchestra  music  of  our  day  is  not 
that  of  Paer  and  Pasiello,  but  of  Meyerbeer,  and  Verdi,  and  Mendelssohn.  The  music 
which  lies  hushed  among  our  book  leaves  is  Tennyson's.  But  as  it  is  possible  for  each  man 
to  preserve  his  individuality  though  wearing  a  national  costume,  and  speaking  his  land's 
language,  so  in  these  younger  poets  we  perceive  only  general  brotherhood,  and  no  servile 
imitation.  They  have  adhered  to  the  fashion  of  blank  verse  "established  by  Tennyson, 
whose  matchless  lyrics  nevertheless  prevent  us  from  ranking  him  with  those  who  hold  that 

" barbarous  nations,  and  more  barbarous  times, 

Debased  the  majesty  of  verae  to  rhymes  ; 
Those  rude  at  first — a  kind  of  hobbling  prose 
That  limped  along  and  tinkled  in  the  close." 

They  have  preseiwed  also  the  Tennysoman  ride  of  the  introduction  of  lyrics  in  the  breaks 
of  the  blank  verse.  With  the  copying  of  these  rules,  and  the  echo  here  and  there  from 
well-known  tones  of  thought  in  the  great  writer,  all  imitation  ceases;  and  had  the  poem 
been  published  as  Tennyson's,  instead  of  with  the  modest  assumption  of  imreal  names, 
which  seems  another  fashion  of  the  day,  we  doubt  (aiid  we  can  pay  the  authors  no  higher 
compliment)  if  the  public  would  have  condemned  the  book  as  unworthy  of  his  fame.  Full 
of  beauty  of  thought,  melody  of  language,  and  sudden  pictures  that  rise  like  vissions  before 
the  reader,  it.  is  full  also  of  noble  and  distinct  morality.  Indeed,  the  final  touch  of  resem- 
blance to  Tennyson  may  be  found  in  this ;  for  many  have  painted  the  shame  and  despair  o£ 
Mil.  but  none  ever  painted  the  degradation  from  a  happy  height,  the  sorrowful  "falling 
away"  from  better  things,  so  well  as  that  great  mastet. 
~  TKc  poem  is  founded  on  a  German  tradition,  and  represents  the  temptation  of  a  young 


knight  lured  from  a  pure  attachment  to  the  worship  of  the  goddess  Venus.  Whether  this 
be  merely  an  allegory;  and  that  Tannhauser,  during  his  absence  from  the  Court  of  the 
Landgrave  of  Wartburg,  was  associated  with  "  pretty  horsebreakere,"  or  whether  ho  did 
ahjure  true  religion  for  the  mythological  goddess,  is  left  iu  obscurity.  Meanwhile,  nothing 
in  modern  poetry  can  bo  liner  than  the  passage  which  describes  the  change  from  the  gross 
worship  paid  to  Sensualism : — 

"  Till  came  the  crack  of  that  tremendous  Doom 
That  sent  the  false  gods  shivering  from  their  seats, 
Shatter'd  the  superstitious  dome  that  blear'd 
Heaven's  face  to  man,  and  on  tho  lurid  world 
Let,  in  effulgence  of  untainted  light. 
As  when,  laid  bare  beneath  the  oelver's  toil 
On  some  huge  bulk  of  buried  masonry 
In  hoar  Assyria,  suddenly  reveal'd, 
A  chamber,  gay  with  sculpture  and  the  pomp 
Of  pictur'd  tracery  on  its  glowing  walls, 
No  sooner  breathes  the  wholesome  heavenly  air 
-^       Than  fast  its  colored  bravery  fades,  and  fall 

Its  ruin'd  statues,  erumaled  from  their  crypts. 
And  all  its  gauds  grow  dark  at  sight  of  day  ; 
So  darken'd  and  to  dusky  ruin  fell 
The  lleetiug  glories  of  a  Pagan  faith, 
Bared  to  Truth's  inlluences  bland,  and  smit 
Blind  by  the  splendors  of  the  Bethlehem  Dawn." 

Tanuhauser's  maiden  love  is  exquisitely  described : 

"  There  came 
An  evening  with  the  Princess,  when  they  twain 
Together  ranged  the  terrace  that  o'erlaps 
The  great  south  garden.     All  her  simple  hair 
A  single  sunbeam  from  the  sleepy  west 
O'ertloated  ;  swam  her  soft  blue  eyes  suffused 
With  tender  ruth,  and  her  meek  face  was  moved 
To  one  slow,  serious  smiie,  that  stole  to  find 
Its  resting-place  on  his. 

"  Then,  whije  he  looked 
On  that  pure  loveliness,  within  himself 
He  faintly  felt  a  mystery  like  pure  love  : 
For  through  the  arid  hollows  of  a  heart 
Sered  by  delirious  dreams,  the  dewy  sense 
Of  innocent  worship  stole." 

Unfortunately,  this  impression  is  not  lasting,  and  wandering  feverishly  to  the  "  horrid  hill 
of  Hoersel,"  were  Venus  dwells, 

"  Bright  in  her  baleful  beauty  he  beheld 
The  goddess  of  his  dreams." 

His  meeting  with  Venus  reminds  us  of  a  passage  in  another  poem — too  little  known  and 
too  little  read — Ilorne's  "Orion;"  and  like  Orion's  meeting  with  Diana,  it  is  fatal  to  his 
peace ; 

"  And,  from  that  hour,  in  court, 
And  chase,  and  tilted  tourney,  many  a  month, 
From  mass  in  holy  church,  and  mirth  in  hall, 
From  all  the  fair  atiseniblage  of  his  peers, 
And  all  the  feudatory  festivals, 
Men  missed  Tannhaeuser." 

And,  ae  is  still  th«'  custom  in  this  busy  world,  missing  him,  they  began  to  forget  him  ;  only 
Elizabeth,  his  maiden  love,  still  yearns  alter  him  : 

"  One  heart  within  1li.it  memory  lived  fcloof, 
One  face,  remembering  his,  forgot  to  smile." 

We  will  not,  spoil  the  pleasure  of  those  who  will  read  the  book,  by  narrating  at  length 
how  the  excellent   Liandgrave  wormed  out  of  his  uiqce  the  reason  of  her  melancholy  or 
•  dispel  it,  he  summoned  all  tl  before  her  lor  the 

prise, 

"  And  hold  high  combat  in  the  craft  of  song.' 


The  absent  Tannhauser  is  fortunately  met  with  in  time  to  take  his  part  in  this  "  Battle  of 
the  Bards,"  for  which  purpose  he  re-appears  among  his  former  friends  at  Court.  Here  is  a 
pleasant  picture  : 

"  Shrill  clink'd  fhe  corridors 

Through  all  the  courts  with  clashing  heels,  or  moved 

With  silken  murmurs,  and  elastic  sounds 

Of  lady  laughters  light ;  as  in  they  flow'd 

Lord,  Liegeman,  Peer,  and  Prince,  and  Paladin, 

And  dame  and  damsel,  clad  in  dimpling  silk 

And  gleaming  pearl ;  who,  while  the  groaning  roofs 

Re-echo'd  royal  music,  swept  adown 

The  spacious  hall,  with  due  obeisance  made 

To  the  high  dais,  and  on  glittering  seats 

Dropp'd  one  by  one,  like  flocks  of  burnished  birds 

That  settle  down  with  sunset-painted  plumes 

On  gorgeous  woods." 

And  this,  when  Tannhauser  bows  before  the  dais  where  the  Landgrave's  niece  is  seated : 

"  The  Landgrave,  at  her  side, 
Saw,  as  he  mused  what  theme  to  give  for  song, 
The  pallid  forehead  of  Elizabeth 
Flush  to  the  fair  roots  of  her  golden  hair." 

And  willing,  in  his  quality  of  uncle  and  chaperon,  to  give  the  Knight  an  opportunity  of 
declaring  his  affection,  from  which  he  deems  him  withheld  only  by  timidity,  the  worthy 
Landgrave  proposes  "  Love"  as  the  subject  for  improvisation. 

So  far,  so  good  ;  but  to  the  amazement  and  horror  of  the  courtiers,  male  and  female,  Tann- 
hauser bursts  out  in  strains  so  passionately  Anacreontic  and  improper,  that  the  men,  out- 
raged at  the  insult  offered  to  the  fair  sex'present,  draw  their  swords  to  slay  the  blasphemer        4 
ihen  and  there  ;  while  the  ladies  take  to  flight : 

1  "  Uprose  on  every  side  and  rustled  down 

The  affrighted  dames  ;  and,  like  the  shuddering  crowd 

Of  particolour'd  leaves  that  flits  before 

The  gust  of  mid  October,  all  at  once 

A  hundred  jewell'd  shoulders,  huddling,  swept 

The  halls,  and  slanted  to  the" doors,  and  fled 

Before  the  storm,  which  now  from  shaggy  brows 

'Gan  dart  indignant  lightnings." 

We  omit  (not  without  regret)  the  beautiful  picture  of  the  sudden  interference  of  Elizabeth 

to  save  her  sinful  lover  from  the  Lynch  law  of  the  Bards  ;  and  we  have  space  only  for  a 

portion  of  her  appeal  against  his  being  assassinated  in  the  name  of  justice : 

"  Oh,  who  that  lives  but  hath  within  his  heart 
Some  cause  to  dread  the  suddenness  of  death  ? 
And  God  is  merciful :  and  suffers  us, 
Even  for  our  sins'  sake  ;  and  doth  spare  us  time, 
Time  to  grow  ready,  time  to  take  farewell ! 
And  sends  us  monitors  and  ministers — 
Old  age,  that  steals  the  fullness  from  the  veins  ; 
And  griefs,  that  take  the  glory  from  the  eyes  ; 
And  pains,  that  bring  us  timely  news  of  death  : 
And  tears,  that  teach  us  to  be  glad  of  him. 
For  who  can  take  farewell  of  all  his  sins 
On  such  a  sudden  summons  to  the  grave? 
Against  high  Heaven  hath  this  man  sinn'd,  or  you? 
Oh,  if  it  be  against  high  Heaven,  to  Heaven 
Remit  the  compt  1  lest,  from  the  armoury 
Of  The  Eternal  Justice  ye  pluck  down, 
Heedless,  that  bolt  The  Highest  yet  withholds 
From  his  low-fallen  head, — how  fall'n  !  how  low  ! 
Yet  not  so  fall'n,  not  so  low-fallen,  but  what 
Divine  Redemption,  reaching  everywhere, 
May  reach  at  last  even  to  this  wretchedness, 
And,  out  of  late  repentance,  raise  it  up 
With  pardon  unto  peace." 

The  key  note  of  the  conclusion  of  the  story  is  in  these  last  hues.    We  will  not  pause 

over  the  exile  substituted  for  the  death. of  Tannhauser  : — 

"  One  lingering  long  look, 
Wild  with  remorse  and  vague  with  vast  regrets, 
He  lifted  to  Elizabeth.     His  thoughts 
Were  then  hr  Ihose  dumb  creatures  iu  their  pain 
That  make  a  language  of  a  look. " 


and  then : — 


A  fleeting  darkness  through  the  lurid  arch  ; 
A  flying  form  along  the  glare  beyond  ; 
And  he  was  gone." 


IIow  and  when  he  returned — how  she  knelt, — 

"  A  faded  watcher  through  the  weary  night, 
A  meek  sweet  statue  at  the  silver  shrines, 
In  deep,  perpetual  prayer  for  him  she  loved," 

and  what  was  the  catastrophe  of  the  story,  it  would  be  unfair  to  the  authors  to  prevent  the 
reader  discovering  for  himself.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  for  very  many  years  (here  has  Dot 
been  a  more  remarkable  poem  offered  to  the  English  public,  who  are  never  slow  in  proving 
that  the  cant  cry  that  "  poetry  is  a  drug  in  the  market,"  means  simply  that  bad  poetry  is  a 
drug  iu  the  market.  Good  poetry  will  be  bought  and  read  as  long  as  there  are  hearts  to 
feel  and  brains  to  understand.  Tannhaeuser  will  be  bought  and  read.  The  ancmyme 
which  the- authors  have  adopted  conceals  names  that  would  add  an  interest  whioh  tin; 
work  itself  does  not  need,  and  we  predict,  for  the  friends  whose  laurel  wreaths  are  so 
inseparably  intertwined,  a  bright  future  in  the  world  of  letters. 

Should  the  severer  judge  deem  that  this  is  a  poor  criticism,  which  is  all  praise  and  DO 
blame,  we  can  only  plead  the  story,  from  the  Italian  of  Boccalini,  told  by  Todd  ;  narrating 
how  a  critic,  having  gathered  together  all  the  faults  of  an  eminent  poet,  made  a  present  of 
them  to  Apollo,  who  received  them  very  graciously  and  resolved  to  make  the  critic  a  euit- 
able  return.  This  he  did  by  setting  the  critic  to  divide  the  chaff  and  grain  from  a  newly 
threshed  sheaf  of  corn  ;  which  task  being  performed,  Apollo  presented  him  with  the  chafl 
for  his  pains. 


TANNHAUSER. 


This  is  the  Land,  the  happy  valleys  these, 

Broad  breadths  of  plain,  blue-vein'd  by  many  a  stream, 

Umbrageous  hills,  sweet  glades,  and  forests  fair, 

O'er  which  our  good  liege,  Landgrave  Herman,  rules. 

This  is  Thuringia :  yonder,  on  the  heights, 

Is  Wartburg,  seat  of  our  dear  lord's  abode, 

Famous  through  Christendom  for  many  a  feat 

Of  deftest  knights,  chief  stars  of  chivalry, 

At  tourney  in  its  courts  ;  nor  more  renown'd 

For  deeds'  of  Prowess  than  exploits  of  Art, 


14  TANNHAEUSER; 

Achieved  when,  vocal  in  its  Muses'  hall, 

The  minstrel-knights  their  glorious  jousts  renew, 

And  for  the  laurel  wage  harmonious  war. 

On  this  side  spreads  the  Chase  in  wooded  slopes 

And  sweet  acclivities ;  and,  all  beyond, 

The  open  flats  lie  fruitful  to  the  sun 

Full  many  a  league  ;  till,  dark  against  the  sky, 

Bounding  the  limits  of  our  lord's  domain, 

The  Hill  of  Hoersel  rears  his  horrid  front. 

Woe  to  the  man  who  wanders  in  the  vast 

Of  those  unhallow'd  solitudes,  if  Sin, 

Quickening  the  lust  of  carnal  appetite, 

Lurk  secret  in  his  heart :  for  all  their  caves 

Echo  weird  strains  of  magic,  direful-sweet, 

That  lap  the  wanton  sense  in  blissful  ease  ; 

While  through  the  ear.a  reptile  music  creeps, 

And  blandly-busy,  round  about  the  soul 

Weaves  its  fell  web  of  sounds.     The  unhappy  wight, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  TIIE  BARDS.  15 

Thus  captive  made  in  soft  and  silken  bands 
Of  tangled  harmony,  is  led  away — 
Away  adown  the  ever-darkening  caves, 
Away  from  fairness  and  the  face  of  God, 
Away  into  the  mountain's  mystic  womb, 
To  where,  reclining  on  her  impious  couch 
All  the  fair  length  of  her  lascivious  limbs, 
Languid  in  light  from  roseate  tapers  flung, 
Incensed  with  perfumes,  tended  on  by  fays, 
The  lustful  Queen,  waiting  damnation,  holds 
Her  bestial  revels.     The  Queen  of  Beauty  once, 
A  goddess  call'd  and  worshipp'd  in  the  days 
When  men  their  own  infirmities  adored, 
Deeming  divine  who  in  themselves  summ'd  up 
The  full-blown  passions  of  humanity. 
Large  fame  and  lavish  service  had  she  then, 
Venus  yclep'd,  of  all  the  Olympian  crew 
Least  continent  of  Spirits  and  most  fair. 


1G  TANNHAEUSER; 

So  reap'd  she  honour  of  unwistful  men, 

Roman,  or  Greek,  or  dwellers  on  the  plains 

Of  Egypt,  or  the  isles  to  utmost  Ind  ; 

Till  came  the  crack  of  that  tremendous  Doom 

That  sent  the  false  gods  shivering  from  their  seats, 

Shatter'd  the  superstitious  dome  that  blear'd 
Heaven's  face  to  man,  and  on  the  lurid  world 
Let  in  effulgence  of  untainted  light. 

As  when,  laid  bare  beneath  the  delver's  toil 

On  some  huge  bulk  of  buried  masonry 

In  hoar  Assyria,  suddenly  reveal'd, 

A  chamber,  gay  with  sculpture  and  the  pomp 

Of  pictur'd  tracery  on  its  glowing  walls, 
No  sooner  breathes  the  wholesome  heavenly  air 
Than  fast  its  coloured  bravery  fades,  and  fall 
Its  ruin'd  statues,  crumbled  from  their  crypts, 
And  all  its  gauds  grow  dark  at  sight  of  day  ; 
So  darken'd  and  to  dusty  ruin  fell 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       17 

The  fleeting  glories  of  a  Pagan  faith, 
Bared  to  Truth's  influences  bland,  and  smit 
Blind  by  the  splendours  of  the  Bethlehem  Dawn. 
Then  from  their  scatter'd  temple  in  the  minds 

Of  men,  and  from  their  long  familiar  homes, 

Their  altars,  fanes,  and  shrines,  the  sumptuous  seats 

Of  their  mendacious  oracles,  out-slunk 

The  wantons  of  Olympus.     Forth  they  fled, 
Forth  from  Dodona,  Delos,  and  the  depths 
Of  wooded  Ida  ;  from  Athenae  forth, 
Cithoeron,  Paphos,  Thebes,  and  all  their  groves 
Of  oak  or  poplar,  dismally  to  roam 
About* the  new-baptized  earth;  exiled, 
Bearing  the  curse,  yet  suffer'd  for  a  space, 

By  Heaven's  clear  sapience  and  inscrutable  ken, 
To  range  the  wide  world,  and  assay  their  powers 
To  unregenerate  redeem'd  mankind  : 

If  haply  they  by  shadows  and  by  shows, 


18  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Phantasmagoria,  and  illusions  wrought 

Of  sight  or  sound  by  sorcery,  may  draw 

Unwary  men,  or  weak,  into  the  nets 

Of  Satan  their  great  Captain.     She  renown'd 

'The  fairest,'  fleeing  from  her  Cyprian  isle, 

Swept  to  the  northwards  many  a  league,  and  lodged 

At  length  on  Horsel,  into  whose  dark  womb 

She  crept  confounded.     Thither  soon  she  drew 

Lewd  Spirits  to  herself,  and  there  abides, 

Holding  her  devilish  orgies  ;  and  has  power 

With  siren  voices  crafty  to  compel 

Into  her  wanton  home  unhappy  men 

Whose  souls  to  sin  are  prone.     The  pure  at  heart 

Natheless  may  roam  about  her  pestilent  hill 

Untainted,  proof  against  perfidious  sounds 

Within  whose  ears  an  angel  ever  sings 

Good  tidings  of  great  joy.     Nor  even  they, 

Whose  hearts  are  gross,  and  who  inflamed  with  lust 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        19 

Enter,  entrapp'd  by  sorceries,  to  her  cave, 
Are  damn'd  beyond  redemption.     For  a  while, 

Slaves  of  their  bodies,  in  the  sloughs  of  Sin 
They  roll  contented,  wallowing  in  the  arms 
Of  their  libidinous  goddess.     But,  ere  long, 
Comes  loathing  of  the  sensual  air  they  breathe, 

Loathing  of  light  unhallow'd,  sickening  sense 
Of  surfeited  enjoyment  ;  and  their  lips, 
Spurning  the  reeky  pasture,  yearn  for  draughts 
Of  rock-rebounding  rills,  their  eyes  for  sight 
Of  Heaven,  their  limbs  for  lengths  of  dewy  grass  : 
What  time  sharp  Conscience  pricks  them,  and  awake 
Starts  the  rcquicken'd  soul  with  all  her  powers, 
And  breaks,  if  so  she  will,  the  murderous  spell, 
Calling  on  God.     God  to  her  rescue  sends 
Voiced  seraphims  thai  lead  f lie  sinner  forth 
From  darkness  unto  day,  from  foul  embrace 
Of  that  bloat  Queen  into  the  mother-lap 


20  TANNHAEUSER; 

Of  earth,  and  the  caressent  airs  of  Heaven ; 

Where  he,  by  strong  persistency  of  prayer, 

By  painful  pilgrimage,  by  lengths  of  fast 

That  tame  the  rebel  flesh,  by  many  a  night 

Of  vigil,  days  of  deep  repentant  tears, 

May  cleanse  his  soul  of  her  adulterate  stains, 

May  from  his  sin-encrusted  spirit  shake 

The  leprous  scales, — and,  purely  at  the  feet 

Of  his  Redemption  falling,  may  arise 

Of  Christ  accepted.     Whoso  doubts  the  truth, 

Doubting  how  deep  divine  Compassion  is, 

Lend  to  my  tale  a  willing  ear,  and  learn. 

Full  twenty  summers  have  fled  o'er  the  land, 
A  score  of  winters  on  our  Landgrave's  head 
Have  shower'd  their  snowy  honours,  since  the  days 
When  in  his  court  no  nobler  knight  was  known, 
And  in  his  halls  no  happier  bard  was  heard, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  21 

Than  bright  Tannhiiuser.     Warrior,  minstrel,  he 
Throve  for  a  while  within  the  general  eye, 
As  some  king-cedar,  in  Crusader  tales, 
The  stateliest  growth  of  Lebanonian  groves  : 
For  now  I  sing  him  in  his  matchless  prime^ 
Not,  as  in  latter  days,  defaced  and  marr'd 
By  secret  sin,  and  like  the  wasted  torch 
Found  in  the  dank  grass  at  the  ghastly  dawn, 
After  a  witches'  revel.     He  was  a  man 
In  whom  prompt  Nature,  as  in  those  soft  climes 
Where  life  is  indolently  opulent, 
Blossom'd  unbid  to  graces  barely  won 
From  tedious  culture,  where  less  kindly  stars 
Cold  influence  keep  ;  and  trothful  men,  who  once 
Look'd  in  his  lordly,  luminous  eyes,  and  scann'd 
His  sinewous  frame,  compact  of  pliant  power, 
Aver  he  was  the  fairest-favour'd  knight 
That  ever,  in  the  light  of  ladies'  looks, 


22  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Made  gay  these  goodly  halls.     Oh  !  deeper. dole, 
That  so  august  a  Spirit,  sphered  so  fair, 
Should  from  the  starry  sessions  of  his  peers 
Decline,  to  quench  so  bright  a  brilliancy 
In  Hell's  sicl^spume.     Ay  me,  the  deeper  dole  ! 

From  yonder  tower  the  wheeling  lapwing  loves 
Beyond  all  others,  that  o'ertops  the  pines, 
And  from  his  one  white,  wistful  window  stares 
Into  the  sullen  heart  o'  the  land, — erewhile 

The  wandering  woodman  oft,  at  nightfall,  heard 

A  sad,  wild  strain  of  solitary  song 

Float  o'er  the  forest.     Whoso  heard  it,  paused 

Compassionately,  cross'd  himself,  and  sigh'd 

'  Alas!  poor  Princess,  to  thy  piteous  moan 

Heaven  send  sweet  peace!'     Heaven  heard.     And  now 

she  lies 
Under  the  marble,  'mid  the  silent  tombs, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  23 

Calm  with  her  kindred  ;  as  her  soul  above 
Rests  with  the  saints  of  God.     . 

The  brother's  child 
Of  our  good  lord  the  Landgrave  was  this  maid, 

And  here  with  him  abode  ;  for  in  the  breach 

At  Ascalon  her  sire  in  Holy  Land  * 

Had  fallen,  fighting  for  the  Cross.     These  halls 

Sheltered  her  infancy,  and  here   she  grew 

Amtfng  the  shaggy  barons,  like  the  pale, 

Mild-eyed  March-violet  of  the  North,  that  blows 

Bleak  under  bergs  of  ice.     Full  fair  she  grew, 

And  all  men  loved  the  rare  Elizabeth  ; 

But  she,  of  all  men,  loved  one  man  the  most, 

Tannhauser,  minstrel,  knight,  the  man  in  whom 

All  mankind  flower'd.     Fairer  growth,  indeed, 
Of  knighthood  never  blossom'd  to  the  eye  ; 
But,  furl'd  beneath  that  florid  surface,  lurk'd 
A  vice  of  nature,  breeding  death,  not  life  ; 


24  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Such  as  where  gome  rich  Roman,  to  delight 
Luxuriant  days  with  labyrinthian  walks 
Of  rose  and  lily,  marble  fountains,  forms 
"Wanton  of  Grace  or  Nymph,  and  winding  frieze 
With  sculpture  rough,  hath  deck'd  the  summer  haunts 
Of  his  voluptuous  villa, — there,  festoon'd 
With  flowers,  among  the  Graces  and  the  Gods, 
The  lurking  fever  glides. 

A  dangerous  skill, 
Caught  from  the  custom  of  those  troubadours 
That  roam  the  wanton  South,  too  near  the  homes 
Of  the  lost  gods,  had  crept  in  careless  use 
Among  our  northern  bards  ;  to  play  the  thief 
Upon  the  poets  of  a  pagan  time, 
And  steal,  to  purfle  their  embroidered  lays, 
Voluptuous  trappings  of  lascivious  lore. 
Hence  had  Tannhauser,  from  of  old,  indulged 
In  song  too  lavish  license  to  mislead 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        25 

The  sense  among  those  fair  but  phantom  forms 

That  haunt  the  unhallow'd  past :  whercfrom  One  Shape 

Forth  of  the  cloudy  circle  gradual  grew 

Distinct  in  dissolute  beauty.     She  of  old, 

Who  from  the  idle  foam  uprose,  to  reign 

In  fancies  all  as  idle, — that  fair  fiend, 

Venus,  whose  temples  are  the  veins  in  youth. 

Now  more  and  ever  more  she  mix'd  herself 
With  all  his  moods,  and  whisper'd  in  his  walks  ; 
Or  through  the  misty  minster,  when  he  kneel'd 
Meek  on  the  flint,  athwart  the  incense-smoke 
She  stole  on  sleeping  sunbeams,  sprinkled  sounds 
Of  cymbals  through  the  silver  psalms,  and  marr'd 
His  adoration  :  most  of  all,  whene'er 
He  sought  to  fan  those  fires  of  holy  love 
That,  sleeping  oftenest,  sometimes  leapt  to  flame, 
Kindled  by  kindred  passion  in  the  eyes 


26  TANNHAEUS3R ; 

Of  sweet  Elizabeth,  round  him  rose  and  roll'd 

That  miserable  magic  ;  and,  at  times, 

It  drove  him  forth  to  wander  in  the  waste 

And  desert  places,  there  where  prayerless  man 

Is  most  within  the  power  of  prowling  fiends. 

"ftme  put  his  sickle  in  among  the  days. 
Outcropp'd  the  coming  harvest ;  and  there  came 
An  evening  with  the  Princess,  when  they  twain 
Together  ranged  the  terrace  that  o'erlaps 
The  great  south  garden.     All  her  simple  hair 
A  single  sunbeam  from  the  sleepy  west 
O'erfloated  j  swam  her  soft  blue  eyes  suffused 
With  tender  ruth,  and  her  meek  face  was  moved 
To  one  slow,  serious  smile,  that  stole  to  find 
Its  resting  place  on  his. 

Then,  while  he  looked 
On  that  pure  loveliness,  within  himself 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  27 

He  faintly  felt  a  mystery  like  pure  love  : 
For  through  the  arid  hollows  of  a  heart 
Scred  by  delirious  dreams,  the  dewy  sense 
Of  innocent  worship  stole.     The  one  great  word 
That  long  had  hover'd  in  the  silent  mind 
Now  on  the  lip  half  settled  ;  for  not  yet 
Had  love  between  them  been  a  spoken  sound 
For  after  speech  to  lean  on  ;  only  here 
And  there,  where  scattered  pauses  strew'd  their  talk, 
Love  seem'd  to  o'erpoise  the  silence,  like  a  star 
Seen  through  a  tender  trouble  of  light  clouds. 
But,  in  that  moment,  some  mysterious  .touch, 
A  thought — who  knows? — a  memory — something  caught 

Perchance  from  Hying  fancies,  taking  form 

Among  the  sunset  clouds,  or  scented  gusts 

Of  evening  through  the  gorgeous  glooms,  shrunk  up 

His  better  angel,  and  at  once  awaked 

The  carnal  creature  sleeping  in  the  flesh, 


28  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Then  died  within  his  heart  that  word  of  life 
Unspoken,  which,  if  spoken,  might  have  saved 
The  dreadful  doom  impending.     So  they  twain 
Parted,  and  nothing  said  :  she  to  her  tower, 
There  with  meek  wonder  to  renew  the  calm 
And  customary  labour  of  the  loom  ; 
And  he  into  the  gradual-creeping  dark 
Which  now  began  to  draw  the  rooks  to  roost 
Along  the  windless  woods. 

His  soul  that  eve 

Shook  strangely  if  some  nickering  shadow  stole 

Across  the  slopes  where  sunset,  sleeping  out 

The  day's  last  dream,  yet  linger'd  low.     Old  songs 

Were  sweet  about  his  brain,  old  fancies  fair 
O'erflow'd  with  lurid  life  the  lonely  land  : 
The  twilight  troop'd  with  antic  shapes,  and  swarm'd 
Above  him,*  and  the  deep  mysterious  woods 
With  mystic  music  drew  him  to  his  doom. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  29 

So  rapt,  with  idle  and  with  errant  foot 
He  wander'd  on  to  Horsel,  and  those  glades 
Of  melancholy  fame,  whose  poisonous  glooms, 
Deck'd  with  the  gleaming  hemlock,  darkly  fringe 
The  Mount  of  Yenus.     There,  a  drowsy  sense 
Of  languor  seized  him  j  and  he  sat  him  down 
Among  a  litter  of  loose  stones  and  blocks 
Of  broken  columns,  overrun  with  weed, 

Remnants  of  heathen  work  that  sometime  propp'd 
A  pagan  temple. 

Suddenly,  the  moon, 
Slant  from  the  shoulder  of  the  monstrous  hill, 
Swung  o'er  a  sullen  lake,  and  softly  touch'd 
"With  light  a  shatter'd  statue  in  the  weed. 
He  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  all  at  once, 
Bright  in  her  baleful  beauty,  he  beheld 
The  goddess  of  his  dreams.     Beholding  whom. 
Lost  to  his  love,  forgetful  of  his  failh, 


30  TANNHAEUSEB; 

And  fever 'd  by  the  stimulated  sense 

Of  reprobate  desire,  the  madman  cried  ; 

1  Descend,  Dame  Venus,  on  my  soul  descend! 

Break  up  the  marble  sleep  of  those  still  brows 

Where  beauty  broods !     Down  all  my  senses  swim, 

As  yonder  moon  to  yonder  love-lit  lake 

Swims  down  in  glory  !' 

Hell  the  horrid  prayer 
Accorded  wifcfe.  a  curse.     Scarce  those  wild  words 
Were  utter'd,  when  like  mist  the  marble  moved, 
Flusht  with  false  life.     Deep  in  a  slimy  cloud 
He  seem'd  to  sink  beneath  the  sumptuous  face 
Lean'd  o'er  him, — all  the  whiteness,  all  the  warmth, 
And  all  the  luxury  of  languid  limbs, 
Where  violet  vein-streaks,  lost  in  limpid  lengths 
Of  snowy  surface,  wander  faint  and  fine  ; 
Whilst  cymbaFd  music,  stol'n  from  underneath, 
Creeps  through  a  throbbing  light  that  grows  and  glows 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  31 

From  glare  to  greater  glare,  until  it  gluts 
And  gulfs  him  in. 

And  from  that  hour,  in  court, 
And  chase,  and  tilted  tourney,  many  a  month, 
From  mass  in  holy  church,  and  mirth  in  hall, 
From  all  the  fair  assemblage  of  his  peers, 
And  all  the  feudatory  festivals, 
Men  miss'd  Tannhauser. 

At  the  first,  as  when 
From  some  great  oak  his  goodliest  branch  is  lopp'd, 
The  little  noisy  birds,  that  built  about 
The  foliage,  gather  in  the  gap  with  shrill 
And  querulous  curiosity  ;  even  so, 
From  all  the  twittering  tongues  that  throng'd  the  court 
Rose  general  hubbub  of  astonishment, 
And  vext  surmise  about  the  absent  man  : 
Why  absent  ?  whither  wander'd  ?  on  what  quest 
Of  errant  prowess? — for,  as  yet,  none  knew 


32  TANNHAEUSER; 

His  miserable  fall.     But  time  wore  on, 
The  wonder  wore  away ;  round  absence  crept 
The  weed  of  custom,  and  the  absent  one 
Became  at  last  a  memory,  and  no  more. 

One  heart  within  that  memory  lived  aloof ; 
One  face,  remembering  his,  forgot  to  smile  ; 
Our  Landgrave's  niece  the  old  familiar  ways 
Walk'd  like  a  ghost  with  unfamiliar  looks. 

Time  put  his  sickle  in  among  the  days. 
The  rose  burn'd  out ;  red  autumn  lit  the  woods  ; 
The  last  snows,  melting,  changed  to  snowy  clouds  ; 
And  Spring  once  more  with  incantations  came 
To  wake  the  buried  year.     Then  did  our  liege, 
Lord  Landgrave  Herman — for  he  loved  his  niece, 
And.  lightly  from  her  simple  heart  had  won 
The  secret  of  lost  smiles,  and  why  she  droop'd 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       33 

A  wilted  flower — thinking  to  dispel, 

If  that  might  be,  her  mournfulness,  let  cry 

0 
By  heralds  that,  at  coming  Whitsuntide, 

The  minstrel-knights  in  Wartburg  should  convene 

To  hold  high  combat  in  the  craft  of  song, 

f 
And  sing  before  the  Princess  for  the  prize. 

But,  ere  that  time,  it  fell  upon  a  day 

When  our  good  lord  went  forth  to  hunt  the  hart, 

That  he  with  certain  of  his  court,  'mid  whom 

Was  Wolfram, — once  Tannhauser's  friend,  himself 

Among  the  minstrels  held  in  high  renown — 

Came  down  the  Wartburg  valley,  where  they  deem'd 

To  hold  the  hart  at  siege,  and  found  him  not : 

But  found,  far  down,  at  bottom  of  the  glade, 

Beneath  a  broken  cross,  a  lonely  knight 

Who  sat  on  a  great  stone,  watching  the  clouds. 

And  Wolfram,  being  a  little  in  the  van 


34  TANNHAETJSER ; 

Of  all  his  fellows,  eager  for  the  hunt, 

Hurriedly  ran  to  question  of  the  knight 

If  he  had  view'd  the  hart.     But  when  he  came 

To  parley  with  him,  suddenly  he  gave 

A  shout  of  great  good  cheer  ;  for,  all  at  once, 

In  that  same  knight  he  saw,  and  knew,  though  changed, 

Tannhauser,  his  old  friend  and  fellow-bard. 

Now,  Wolfram  long  had  loved  Elizabeth 
As  one  should  love  a  star  in  heaven,  who  knows 
The  distance  of  it,  and  the  reachlessness. 
But  when  he  knew  Tannhauser  in  her  heart, 
(For  loving  eyes  in  eyes  beloved  are  swift 
To  search  out  secrets)  not  the  less  his  own 
Clave  unto  both  j  and,  from  that  time,  his  love 
Lived  like  an  orphan  child  in  charity, 
"Whose  loss  came  early,  and  is  gently  borne, 
Too  deep  for  tears,  too  constant  for  complaint. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       35 

And,  therefore,  in  the  absence  of  his  friend 

His  inmost  heart  was  heavy,  when  he  saw 

The  shadow  of  that  absence  in  the  face 

He  loved  beyond  all  faces  upon  earth. 

So  that  when  now  he  found  that  friend  again 

Whom  he  had  miss'd  and  mourn'd,  right  glad  was  he 

Both  for  his  own  and  for  the  Princess'  sake  : 

And  ran  and  fell  upon  Tannhauser's  neck, 

And  all  fo'rjoy  constraint  him  to  his  heart, 

Calling  his  fellows  from  the  neighboring  hills, 

Who,  crowding,  came,  great  hearts  and  open  arms 

To  welcome  back  their  peer.     The  Landgrave  then, 

When  he  perceived  his  well-beloved  knight, 

Was  passing  glad,  and  would  have  question'd  him 

Of  his  long  absence.     But  the  man  himself 

Could  answer  nothing  ;  staring  with  blank  eyes 

From  face  to^|ce,  then  up  into  the  blue 

Bland  heavens  above  ;  astonied,  and  like  one 


36  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Who,  suddenly  awaking  out  of  sleep 

After  sore  sickness,  knows  his  friends  again, 

And  would  peruse  their  faces,  but  breaks  off 

To  list  the  frolic  bleating  of  the  lamb 

In  far-off  fields,  and  wonder  at  the  world 

And  all  its  strangeness.    -Then,  while  the  glad  knights 

Clung  round  him,  wrung  his  hands,  and  dinn'd  his  ears 

"With  clattering  query,  our  fair  lord  himself 

Unfolded  how,  upon  the  morrow  morn, 

There  should  be  hold  en  festive  in  his  halls 

High  meeting  of  the  minstrels  of  the  land, 

To  sing  before  the  Princess  for  the  prize : 

Whereto  he  bade  him  with  '  0  sir,  be  sure 

There  lives  a  young  voice  that  shall  tax  your  wit 

To  justify  this  absence  from  your  friends. 

We  trust,  at  least,  that  you  have  brought  us  back 

A  score  of  giants'  beards,  or  dragons'  tailsjfc 

To  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  our  fair  niece. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        37 

For  think  not,  truant,  that  Elizabeth 
Will  hold  you  lightly  quitted. ' 

At  that  name, 
Elizabeth,  he  started  as  a  man 
That  hears  on  foreign  shores,  from  alien  lips, 
Some  name  familiar  to  his  fatherland  ; 
And  all  at  once  the  man's  heart  inly  yearns 
For  brooks  that  bubble,  and  for  woods  that  wave 
Before  his  father's  door,  while  he  forgets 
The  forms  about  him.     So  Tannhauser  mused 
A  little  space,  then  falter'd  '  0  my  liege,  ' 
Fares  my  good  lady  well  ? — I  pray  my  lord 

That  I  may  draw  me  hence  a  little  while, 
For  all  my  mind  is  troubled  :  and,  indeed, 
I  know  not  if  my  harp  have  lost  his  skill, 
But,  skill'd,  or  skilless,  it  shall  find  some  tone 
To  render  thanks  to-morrow  to  my  lord  ; 
To  whose  behests  a  bondsman,  m  so  fur 


38  TANNHAEUSER; 

As  my  poor  service  holds,  I  will  assay 
To  sing  before  the  Princess  for  the  prize/ 

Then,  on  the  morrow  morn,  from  far  and  near 
Flow'd  in  the  feudatory  lords.     The  hills 
Broke  out  ablaze  with  banners,  and  rung  loud 
With  tingling  trumpet  notes,  and  neighing  steeds. 
For  all  the  land,  elate  with  lusty  life, 
Buzz'd  like  a  beehive  in  the  sun  ;  and-  all 
The  castle  swarm'd  from  bridge  to  barbican 
With  mantle  and  with  mail,  whilst  minster-bells 
Rang  hoarse  their  happy  chimes,  till  the  high  noon 

Clang'd  from  the  towers.     Then,  o'er  the  platform  stol-ed 

And  canopied  in  crimson,  lightly  blew 

The  scepter'd  heralds  on  the  silver  trump 

Intense  sonorous  music,  sounding  in 

The  knights  to  hall.     Shrill  clink'd  the  corridors 

Through  all  the  courts  with  clashing  heels,  or  moved 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  39 

With  silken  murmurs,  and  elastic  sounds 

■ 
Of  lady  laughters  light  ;  as  in  they  flow'd 

Lord,  Liegeman,  Peer,  and  Prince,  and  Paladin, 

And  dame  and  damsel,  clad  in  dimpling  silk 

And  gleaming  pearl  ;  who,  while  the  groaning  roofs 

Re-echoed  royal  music,  swept  adown 

The  spacious  hall,  with  due  obeisance  made 

To  the  high  dais,  and  on  glittering  seats 

Dropp'd  one  by  one,  like  flocks  of  burnish'd  birds 
That  settle  down  with  sunset-painted  plumes 

On  gorgeous  woods.     Again  from  the  outer  wall 
The  intermitted  trumpet  blared ;  and  each 
Pert  page,  a-tiptoe,  from  the  benches  lean'd 
To  see  the  minstrel-knights,  gold-filleted, 
That  cntcr'd  now  the  hall :  Sir  Mandeville, 
The  swan  of  Eisnach  ;  Wilfred  of  the  Hills ; 
Wolfram,  sunnuned  of  Willow-brook  ;  and  next 
Taimhauser,  clnisten'd  of  the  Golden  Harp  : 


40  TANNHAEUSER ; 

With  Walter  of  the  Heron-chase  \  and  Mas, 

The  seer  :  Sir  Rudolf,  of  the  Raven-crest  • 
And  Franz,  the  falconer.     They  enter'd,  each 
In  order,  follow'd  by  a  blooming  boy 
That  bore  his  harp,  and,  pacing  forward,  bow'd 
Before  the  Landgrave  and  Elizabeth. 

Pale  sat  the  Princess  in  her  chair  of  state, 

Perusing  with  fix'd  eyes,  that  all  belied 

Her  throbbing  heart,  the  carven  architrave, 

Whereon  the  intricate  much-vex'd  design 

Of  leaf  and  stem  disintertwined  itself 

With  infinite  laboriousness,  at  last 

Escaping  in  a  flight  of  angel  forms  ; 

As  tho'  the  carver's  thought  had  been  to  show 

The  weary  struggle  of  the  soul  to  free 

Her  flight  from  earth's  bewilderment,  and  all 

That  frets  her  in  the  flesh.     But  when,  erewhile. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  41 

The  minstrels  enter'd,  and  Tannhauser  bow'd 

Before  the  dais,  the  Landgrave  at  her  side, 

Saw,  as  he  mused  what  theme  to  give  for  song, 

The  pallid  forehead  of  Elizabeth 

Flush  to  the  fair  roots  of  her  golden  hair, 

And  thought  within  himself:  '  Our  knight  delays 

To  own  a  love  that  aims  so  near  our  throne  ; 

Hence,  haply,  this  late  absence  from  our  court, 

And  those  bewilder'd  moods  which  I  have  mark'd  : 

But  since  love  lightly  catches,  where  it  can, 

At  any  means  to  make  itself  approved, 

And  since  the  singer  may  to  song  confide 

What  the  man  dares  not  trust  to  simple  speech, 

I,  therefore,  so  to  ease  two  hearts  at  once, 

And  signify  our  favour  unto  both, 

Will  to  our  well-beloved  minstrels  give 

No  theme  less  Bweet  Hum  Love  ;  for,  surely,  lie 

That  loves  the  best,  will  Biag  the  best,  and  bear 


42  TANNHAEUSER; 

The  prize  from  all.'     Therewith  the  Landgrave  rose, 
And  all  the  murmuring  Hall  was  hush'd  to  hear. 

'  0  well-beloved  minstrels,  in  my  mind 

I  do  embrace  you  all,  and  heartily 

Bid  you  a  lavish  welcome  to  these  halls. 

Oft  have  you  flooded  this  fair  space  with  song, 

Waked  these  voiced  walls,  and  vocal  made  yon  roof, 

As  waves  of  surging  music  lapp'd  against 
Its  resonant  rafters.     Often  have  your  strains 
Ennobled  souls  of  true  nobility, 
Rapt  by  your  perfect  pleadings  in  the  cause 
Of  all  things  pure  unto  a  purer  sense 
Of  their  exceeding  loveliness.     No  power 
Is  subtler  o'er  the  spirit  of  "man  than  Song — 
Sweet  echo  of  great  thoughts,  that,  in  the  mind 
Of  him  who  hears  congenial  echoes  waking, 
Remultiplies  the  praise  of  what  is  good. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  43 

Song  cheers  the  emulous  spirit  to  the  top 

Of  Virtue's  rugged  steep,  from  whence,  all  heights 

Of  human  worth  attain'd,  the  mortal  may 

Conjecture  of  God's  unattainable, 

Which  is  Perfection. — Faith,  with  her  sisters  twain 

Of  Hope  and  Charity,  ye  oft  have  sung, 

And  loyal  Truth  have  lauded,  and  have  wreathed 

A  coronal  of  music  round  the  brows 

Of  stainless  Chastity  ;  nor  less  have  praised 

High-minded  Valour,  in  whose  righteous  hand 

Burns  the  great  sword  of  flaming  Fortitude, 

9 

And  have  stirr'd  up  to  deeds  of  high  emprize 

Our  noble  knights  (yourselves  among  the  noblest) 

Whether  on  German  soil  for  me,  their  prince, 

Fighting,  or  in  the  Land  of  Christ  for  God. 

Sing  ye  to-day  another  theme  ;  to-day 

Within  our  glad  society  we  see, 

To  fellowship  of  loving  friends  restored, 


44  TANNHAEUSER; 

A  long-missed  face  ;  and  hungerly  our  ears 

Wait  the  melodious  murmurs  of  a  harp 

That  wont  to  feed  them  daintily.     "What  drew 

Our  singer  forth,  and  led  the  fairest  light 

Of  all  our  galaxy  to  swerve  astray 

From  his  fix'd  orbit,  and  what  now  respheres, 

After  deflection  long,  our  errant  orb, 

Implies  a  secret  that  the  subtle  power 

Of  Song,  perchance,  may  solve.     Be  then  your  theme 

As  universal  as  the  heart  of  man, 

Giving  you  scope  to  touch  its  deepest  depths, 

Its  highest  heights,  and  reverently  to  explore 

Its  mystery  of  mysteries.     Sing  of  Love  : 

Tell  us,  ye  noble  poets,  from  what  source 

Springs  the  prime  passion  ;  to  what  goal  it  tends  ; 

Sing  it  how  brave,  how  beautiful,  how  bright, 

In  essence  how  ethereal,  in  effect 

How  palpable,  how  human  yet  divine. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  45 

Up !  up  !  loved  singers,  smite  into  the  chords, 
The  lists  are  open'd,  set  your  lays  in  rest, 

And  who  of  Love  best  chants  the  perfect  praise, 
Him  shall  Elizabeth  as  conqueror  hail 
And  round  his  royal  temples  bind  the  bays.' 

He  said,  and  sat.     And  from  the  middle-hall 

Four  pages,  bearers  of  the  blazon'd  urn 

That  held  the  name-scrolls  of  the  listed  bards, 

Moved  to  Elizabeth.     Daintily  her  hand 

Dipp'd  in  the  bowl,  and  one  drawn  scroll  deliver'd 

Back  to  the  pages,  who,  perusing,  cried  : 

'  Sir  Wolfram  of  the  Willow-brook, — begin.' 

Up-rose  the  gentle  singer — he  whose  lays, 
Melodious-melancholy,  through  the  Land 
Live  to  this  day — and,  fair  obeisance  made, 
Assumed  his  harp  and  stood  in  act  to  sing. 


4G  TANNHAEUSER; 

Awhile,  his  dreamy  fingers  o'er  the  chords 
"Wander'd  at  will,  and  to  the  roof  was  turn'd 
His  meditative  face  ;  till,  suddenly, 
A  soft  light  from  his  spiritual  eyes 
Broke,  and  his  canticle  he  thus  began  : 

'  Love  among  the  saints  of  God, 
Love  within  the  hearts  of  men, 
Love  in  every  kindly  sod 

That  breeds  a  violet  in  the  glen  ; 
"  Love  in  heaven,  and  Love  in  earth, 

Love  in  all  the  amorous  air  ; 

Whence  comes  Love  ?  ah  !  tell  me  where 

Had  such  a  gracious  Presence  birth? 

Lift  thy  thoughts  to  Him,  all-knowing, 

In  the  hallow'd  courts  above  ; 

From  His  throne,  for  ever  flowing, 

Springs  the  fountain  of  all  Love : 


. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       47 

Down  to  earth  the  stream  descending 
Meets  the  hills,  and  murmurs  then, 
In  a  myriad  channels  wending, 
Through  the  happy  haunts  of  men. 
Blessed  ye,  earth's  sons  and  daughters, 

Love  among  you  flowing  free  ; 
Guard,  oh  !  guard  its  sacred  waters, 
Tend  on  them  religiously  : 
Let  them  through  your  hearts  steal  sweetly,    • 
"With  the  spirit,  wise  and  bland, 
Minister  unto  them  meetly, 
Touch  them  not  with  carnal  hand. 


'  Maiden,  fashion'd  so  divinely, 
Whom  I  worship  from  afar', 
Smile  thou  on  my  soul  benignly, 
Sweet,,  my  solitary  star  : 
Gentle  harbinger  of  gladness, 


48  •  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Still  be  with  me  on  the  way  ; 
Only  soother  of  my  sadness, 
Always  near,  though  far  away  : 

Always  near,  since  first  upon  me 
Fell  thy  brightness  from  above, 
And  my  troubled  heart  within  me 
Felt  the  sudden  flow  of  Love  ; 
At  thy  sight  that  gushing  river 
Paused,  and  fell  to  perfect  rest, 
And  the  pool  of  Love  for  ever 
Took  thy  image  to  its  breast. 

'Let me  keep  my  passion  purely, 
Guard  its  waters  free  from  blame, 
Hallow  Love,  as  knowing  surely 
It  returneth  whence  it  came  • 
From  all  channels,  good  or  evil, 

Love,  to  its  pure  source  enticed, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BAUDS.       49 

Finds  its  own  immortal  level 
In  the  charity  of  Christ. 

Ye  who  hear,  behold  the  river, 
Whence  it  cometh,  whither  goes  ; 
Glory  be  to  God  the  Giver, 
From  whose  grace  the  fountain  flows ; 
Flows  and  spreads  through  all  creation, 
Counter-charm  of  every  curse, 
Love,  the  waters  of  Salvation, 
Flowing  through  the  universe  !' 

And  still  the  rapt  bard,  though  his  voice  had  ceased, 
And  all  the  Hall  had  murmur'd  into  praise, 
Pursued  his  plaintive  theme  among  the  chords, 
Blending  with  instinct  fine  the  intricate  throng 
Of  thoughts  that  flow'd  beneath  his  touch  to  find 
Harmonious  resolution.     As  he  closed. 


50  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Tannhauser  rising,  fretted  with  delay, 
Sent  flying  fingers  o'er  the  strings,  and  sang : 

1  Love  be  my  theme  !  Sing  her  awake, 
My  harp,  for  she  hath  tamely  slept 
In  Wolfram's  song,  a  stagnant  lake 
O'er  which  a  shivering  star  hath  crept. 

1  Awake,  dull  waters,  from  your  sleep, 
Rise,  Love,  from  thy  delicious  well, 
A  fountain  ! — yea,  but  flowing  deep 
With  nectar  and  with  hydromel  ; 

'  With  gurgling  murmurs  sweet,  that  teach 
My  soul  a  sleep-distracting  dream, 
Till  on  the  marge  I  lie,  and  reach 
My  longing  lips  towards  the  stream, 

■  Whose  waves  leap  upwards  to  the  brink, 
With  drowning  kisses  to  invite 
And  drag  me,  willing,  down  to  drink 
Delirious  draughts  of  rare  Delight. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       51 

'  Who  careless  drink,  as  knowing  well 
The  happy  pastime,  shall  not  tire, 
For  Love  is  inexhaustible, 
And  all-unfailing  my  Desire. 


*  Love's  fountain-marge  is  fairly  spread 
With  every  incense-flower  that  blows, 
With  mossy  sedge,  and  moss  that  grows 
For  fervid  limbs  a  dewy  bed  ; 

1  And  fays  and  fairies  flit  and  wend 
To  keep  the  sweet  stream  flowing  free , 
And  on  Love's  languid  votary 
The  little  elves  delighted  tend, 

1  And  bring  him  honey-dews  to  sip, 
Rare  balms  to  cool  him  after  play, 
Or  with  sweet  unguents  smooth  away 
The  kiss-crease  on  his  ruffled  lip  ; 


i>2  TANNHAEUSER; 

1  And  lilywhite  his  limbs  they  lave, 
And  roses  in  his  cheeks  renew, 
That  he,  refresh'd,  return  to  glue 
His  lips  to  Love's  caressent  wave, 

1  And  feel,  in  that  immortal  kiss, 
His  mortal  instincts  die  the  death, 
And  human  fancy  fade  beneath 
The  taste  of  unimagined  bliss ! 


'  Thus,  gentle  audience,  since  your  ear 
Best  loves  a  metaphoric  lay, 
Of  mighty  Love  I  warble  here 
In  figures,  such  as  Fancy  may  : 

1  Now  know  ye  how  of  Love  I  think 
As  of  a  fountain,  failing  never, 
On  whose  soft  marge  I  lie,  and  drink 
Delicious  draughts  of  Joy  for  ever/ 

Abrupt  he  ceased,  and  sat.     And  for  a  space, 
No  longer  than  the  subtle  lightning  rests 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  53 

Upon  the  sultry  cloud  at  eventide, 

The  Princess  smiled,  and  on  her  parted  lips 

Hung  inarticulate  applause  ;  but  she 

Sudden  was  ware  that  all  the  hall  was  mute 

With  blank  disapprobation  ;  and  her  smile 

Died,  and  vague  fear  was  quicken'd  iu  her  heart 

As  Walter  of  the  Heron-chase  began  : 

1  0  fountain  ever  fair  and  bright, 
He  hath  beheld  thee,  source  of  Love, 
Who  sung  thee  springing  from  above, 
Celestial  from  the  founts  of  Light ; 

*  But  he  who  from  thy  waters  rare 
Hath  thought  to  drajn  a  gross  delight, 
Blind  in  his  spiritual  sight, 
Hath  ne'er  beheld  thee,  fountain  fair  ! 

'  Hath  never  seen  the  silver  glow 
Of  thy  glad  waves,  crystalline  clear, 
Hath  never  heard  within  his  ear 
The  music  of  thy  murmurous  flow. 


54  TANNHAEUSEB ; 

'  The  essence  of  all  Good  thou  art, 
Thy  waters  are  immortal  Ruth, 
Thy  murmurs  are  the  voice  of  Truths 
And  music  in  the  human  heart : 

VThou  yieldest  faith  that  soars  on  high, 
And  sympathy  that  dwells  on  earth  j 
The  tender  trust  in  human  worth, 
The  hope  that  lives  beyond  the  sky. 

*  Oh  !  waters  of  the  living  Word, 

.     Oh  !  fair  vouchsafed  us  from  above, 
Oh  !  fountain  of  immortal-  Love, 
"What  song  of  thee  erewhile  I  heard  I 

*  Learn,  sacrilegious  bard,  from  me 
How  all  ignoble  was  thy  strain, 
That  sought  with  trivial  song  to  stain 
The  fountain  of  Love's  purity  ; 

'  That  fountain  thou  hast  never  found, 
And  should'st  thou  come  with  lips  of  fire 
To  slake  the  thirst  of  brute  Desire, 
Twould  shrink  and  shrivel  to  the  ground 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       55 

'  Who  seeks  in  Love's  pure  stream  to  lave 
His  gross  heart  finds  damnation  near  ; 
Who  laves  in  Love  his  spirit  clear 
Shall  win  Salvation  from  the  wave,' 


And  now  again,  as  when  the  plaintive  lay 
Of  Wolfram  warbled  to  harmonious  close, 
The  crowd  grew  glad  with  plaudits  ;  and  again 
Tannhauser,  ruffled,  rose  his  height,  and  smote 
Rude  in  the  chords  his  prelude  of  reply  : 

1  What  love  is  this  that  melts  with  Ruth, 
Whose  murmurs  are  the  voice  of  Truth  ? 
Ye  dazed  singers,  cease  to  dream, 
And  learn  of  me  your  human  theme  : 
Of  that  great  Passion  at  whose  feet 
The  vassal-world  lies  low, 
Of  Love  the  mighty,  Love  the  sweet, 
I  sing,  who  reigus  below  ; 


56  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Who  makes  men  fierce,  tame,  wild,  or  kind, 

Sovran  of  every  mood, 

Who  rules  the  heart,  and  rules  the  mind, 

And  courses  through  the  blood  : 

Slave,  of  that  lavish  Power  I  sing, 

Dispenser  of  all  good, 

Whose  pleasure-fountain  is  the  spring 

Of  sole  beatitude. 

'  Sing  ye  of  Love  ye  ne'er  possessed 
In  wretched  tropes — a  vain  employment ! 
I  sing  the  passion  in  my  breast, 
And  know  Love  only  in  Enjoyment.' 

To  whom,  while  all  the  rustling  hall  was  moved 
With  stormy  indignation,  stern  up-rose, 
Sharp  in  retort,  Sir  Wilfrid  of  the  hills  : 

1  Up,  minstrels !  rally  to  the  cry 
Of  outraged  Love  and  Loyalty  ; 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  ■   57 

Drive  on  this  slanderer,  all  the  throng, 
And  slay  him  in  a  storm  of  song. 
Oh  lecher  !  shall  I  sing  to  thee 
Of  Love's  untainted  purity, 
Of  simple  Faith,  and  tender  Ruth, 
Of  Chastity  and  loyal  Truth  ? 
As  well  sing  Day's  resplendent  birth 
To  the  blind  mole  that  delves  the  earth 

As  seek  from  gross  hearts,  slough'd  in  sin, 
Approval  of  pure  Love  to  win  ! 

Rather  from  thee  I'll  wring  applause 

For  Love,  the  Avenger  of  his  cause  ; 

Great  Love,  the  chivalrous  and  strong, 

To  whose  wide  grasp  all  arms  belong, 

The  lance,  the  battle-axe,  and  thong — 

And  eke  the  mastery  in  song. 

1  Love  in  my  heart  in  all  the  pride 
Of  kinghood  sits,  and  at  his  side 


58  TAmHAEUSER ; 

To  do  the  bidding  of  his  lord, 

Martial  Valour  holds  the  sword ; 

He  strikes  for  Honour,  in  the  name 

Of  Virtue  and  fair  woman's'  fame, 

And  bids  me  shed  my  dearest  blood 

To  venge  aspersed  maidenhood : 

Who  soils  her  with  licentious  lie, 

Him  will  I  hew  both  hip  and  thigh, 

Or  in  her  cause  will  dearly  die. 

But  thou,  who  in  thy  flashy  song 

Hast  sought  to  do  all  Honour  wrong, 

Pass  on — I  will  not  stoop  my  crest 

To  smite  thee,  nor  lay  lance  in  rest. 

Thy  brawling  words,  of  riot  born, 

Are  worthy  only  of  my  scorn  ; 

Thus  at  thy  ears  this  song  I  fling, 
Which  in  thy  heart  may  plant  its  sting, 
If  ruin'd  Conscience  yet  may  wring 
Remorse  from  such  a  guilty  thing.' 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        59 


Scarce  from  his  lips  had  parted  the  last  word 

When,  through  the  rapturous  praise  that  rang  around, 

Fierce  from  his  seat  up-rising,  red  with  rage, 

With  scornful  lip,  and  contumelious  eye, 

» 

Tannhauser  clang'd  among  the  chords,  and  sang  : 

'  Floutest  thou  me,  thou  grisly  Bard  ? 
Beware,  lest  I  the  just  reward 
On  thy  puff 'd  insolence  bestow, 
And  cleave  thee  with  my  falchion's  blow, — 
When  I  in  song  have  laid  thee  low. 
I  serve  a  Mistress  mightier  far 
Than  tinkling  rill,  or  twinkling  star, 
And,  as  in  my  great  Passion's  glow 
Thy  passion-dream  will  melt  like  snow, 
So  I,  Love's  champion,  at  her  call, 


GO  TANNHAEUSER; 

Will  make  thee  shrink  in  field  or  hall, 
And  roll  before  rne  like  a  ball. 

1  Thou  pauper-minded  pedant  dim, 
Thou  starveling-soul,  lean  heart  and  grim, 
Wouldst  thou  of  Love  the  praises  hymn  ? 
Then  let  the  gaunt  hyena  howl 
In  praise  of  Pity ;  let  the  owl 
Whoop  the  high  glories  of  the  noon,  . 
And  the  Ijoarse  chough  becroak  the  moon ! 
What  canst  thou  prate  of  Love  ?     I  trow 
She  never  graced  thy  open  brow, 
Nor  flush'd  thy  cheek,  nor  blossom'd  fair 
Upon  thy  parted  lips  ;  nor  e'er 
Bade  unpent  passion  wildly  start 
Through  the  forced  portals  of  thy  heart 
To  stream  in  triumph  from  thine  eye, 

.Or  else  delicious  death  to  die 
On  other  lips,  in  sigh  on  sigh. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       61 

'  Of  Love,  dispenser  of  all  bliss, 

» 

Of  Love  that  crowns  rne  with  a  kiss, 

I  here  proclaim  me  champion-knight ; 
And  in  her  cause  will  dearly  fight 
With  sword  or  song,  in  hall  or  plain, 
And  make  the  welkin  ring  again 
With  my  fierce  blows,  or  fervent  strain. 
But  for  such  Love  as  thou  canst  feel, 
Thou  wisely  hast  abjured  the  steel, 
Averse  to  lay  thy  hand  on  hilt, 
Or  in  her  honour  ride  a  tilt : 
Tame  Love  full  tamely  may'st  thou  jilt, 
And  keep  bone  whole,  and  blood  unspihV 

Outflash'd  Sir  Wilfrid's  weapon,  and  outleapt 
From  every  angry  eye  a  thousand  darts 
Of  unsheath'd  indignation,  and  a  shout 
Went  up  among  the  rafters,  and  the  Hall 
Sway'd  to  and  fro  with  tumult  ;  till  the  voice 


62  TANNHAEUSER; 

Of  our  liege  lord  roared  '.  Peace !'  and,  'midst  the  clang 

Of  those  who  parted  the  incensed  hards, 

Sounded  the  harp  of  Wolfram.     Calm  he  stood, 

He  only  calm  of  all  the  brawling  crowd, 

Which  yet,  as  is  its  wont,  contagion  caught 

From  neighbouring  nobleness,  and  a  stillness  fell 

On  all,  and  in  the  stillness  soft  he  sang  : 

'  Oh !  from  your  sacred  seats  look  down, 
Angels  and  ministers  of  good  ; 
With  sanctity  our  spirits  crown, 
And  crush  the  vices  of  the  blood ! 

1  Open  your  hearts  and  set  them  free, 
That  heavenly  light  may  enter  in  ; 
And  from  this  fair  society 
Obliterate  the  taint  of  sin. 

'  Thee,  holy  Love,  I  bid  arise 
Propitious  to  my  votive  lay  ; 
Shine  thou  upon  our  darken'd  eyes  • 
And  lead  us  on  the  perfect  way  ; 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       63 

1  As,  in  the  likeness  of  a  Star, 
Thou  once  arosest,  guidance  meet, 
And  led'st  the  sages  from  afar 
To  sit  at  holy  Jesu's  feet ; 

•  So  guide  us,  safe  from  Satan's  snares, 
Shine  out,  sweet  Star,  around,  above, 
Till  we  have  scaled  the  mighty  stairs, 
And  reach'd  thy  mansions,  Heavenly  Love  V 

Then,  while  great  shouts  went  up  of  '  Give  the  prize 
To  Wolfram,'  leapt  Tannhauser  from  his  seat, 

• 

Fierce  passion  flaming  from  his  lustrous  orbs. 
And,  as  a  sinner,  desperate  to  add 
Depth  to  damnation  by  one  latest  crime, 
Dies  boastful  of  his  blasphemies — even  so, 
Tannhauser,  conscious  of  the  last  disgrace 
Incurr'd  by  such  song  in  such  company, 
Intent  to  vaunt  the  vastness  of  his  sin, 
Thus,  as  in  ecstacy,  the  song  renewed  : 


G4  TANNHAEUSER; 

1  Goddess  of  Beauty,  thee  I  hynin, 
And  ever  worship  at  thy  shrine  ; 
Thou,  who  on  mortal  senses  dim 
Descending,  makest  man  divine. 

1  Who  hath  embraced  thee  on  thy  throne, 
And  pastured  on  thy  royal  kiss, 
He,  happy,  knows,  and  knows  alone, 
Love's  full  beatitude  of  bliss. 

'  Grim  bards,  of  Love  who  nothing  know, 
Now  cease  the  unequal  strife  between  us ; 
Dare  as  I  dared  ;  to  Horsel  go, 
And  taste  Love  on  the  lips  of  Venus.' 

Up -rose  on  every  side  and  rustled  down 

The  affrighted  dames  ;  and,  like  the  shuddering  crowd 

Of  particolour'd  leaves  that  flits  before 

The  gust  of  mid  October,  all  at  once 

A. hundred  jewell'd  shoulders,  huddling,  swept 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       65 

m 

The  hall,  and  slanted  to  the  doors,  and  fled 

Before  the  storm,  which  now  from  shaggy  brows 

'Gan  dart  indignant  lightnings.     One  alone 

Of  all  that  awe-struck  womanhood  remained, 

The  Princess.     She,  a  purple  hairbell  frail, 

That,  swathed  with  whirlwind,  to  the  bleak  rock  clings 

When  half  a  forest  falls  before  the  blast, 

Rooted  in  utter  wretchedness,  and  robed 

In  mockery  of  splendid  state,  still  sat  ; 

Still  watched  the  waste  that  widen'd  in  her  life  ; 

And  look'd  as  one  that  in  a  nightmare  hangs 

Upon  the  edge  of  horror,  while  from  beneath 

The  creeping  billow  of  humanity 

Sprays  all  his  hair  with  cold  ;  but  hand  or  foot 

He  may  not  move,  because  the  formless  Fear 

Gapes  vast  behind  him.     Grief  within  the  void 

Of  her  stark  eyes  stood  tearless  :  terror  blanch'd 


66  TANNHAEUSER; 

Her  countenance  ;  and,  over  cloudy  brows, 
The  shaken  diamond  made  a  restless  light, 
And  trembled  as  the  trembling  star  that  hangs 
O'er  Cassiopeia  i'  the  windy  north. 

But  now,  from  farthest  end  to  end  of  all 
The  sullen  movement  swarming  underneath, 
Uproll'd  deep  hollow  groans  of  growing  wrath, 
And,  where  ere  while  in  rainbow  crescent  ranged 
The  bright-eyed  beauties  of  the  court,  fast  throng'd 
Faces  inflamed  with  wrath,  that  rose  and  fell 
Tumultuously  gathering  from  between 
Sharp-slanting  lanes  of  steel.     For  every  sword 
Flash'd  bare  upon  a  sudden  :  and  over  these, 
Through  the  wide  bursten  doors  the  sinking  sun 
Stream'd  lurid,  lighting  up  that  steely  sea  ; 
Which,  spotted  white  with  foamy  plumes,  and  ridged 
With  glittering  iron,  clash'd  together  and  closed 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       G7 

About  Tannhauser.     Careless  of  the  wrath 
Roused  by  his  own  rash  song,  the  singer  stood  ; 
Rapt  in  remembrance,  or  by  fancy  fool'd 
A  visionary  Venus  to  pursue, 
With  eyes  that  roam'd  in  rapture  the  blank  air, 
Until  the  sharp  light  of  a  hundred  swords 
Smote  on  the  fatal  trance,  and  scatter'd  all 
Its  fervid  fascination.     Swift  from  sheath 

Then  leapt  the  glaive  and  glitter'd  in  his  hand, 

And  warily,  with  e3Te  upon  the  watch, 

Receding  to  the  mighty  main  support 

That,  from  the  centre,  propp'd  the  ponderous  roof, 

There,  based  against  the  pillar,  fronting  full 

His  sudden  foes,  he  rested  resolute, 

Waiting  assault. 

But,  hollow  as  a  bell, 
That  tolls  for  tempest  from  a  storm-clad  tower, 
Rang  through  the  jangling  shock  of  arms  and  men 


68  TANNHAEUSER; 

The  loud  voice  of  the  Landgrave.     Wide  he  swept 

The  solemn  sceptre,  crying  '  Peace  !'  then  said  : 

1  Ye  Lieges  of  Thuringia !  whose  just  scorn, 
In  judgment  sitting  on  your  righteous  brows, 
Would  seem  to  have  forecast  the  dubious  doom 
Awaiting  our  decision  ;  ye  have  heard, 
Not  wrung  by  torture  from  reluctant  lips, 
Nor  yet  breathed  forth  with  penitential  pain 
In  prayer  for  pardon,  nay,  but  rather  fledged 
And  barb'd  with  boastful  insolence,  such  a  crime 
Confest,  as  turns  to  burning  coals  of  wrath 
The  dewy  eyes  of  Pity,  nor  to  Hope 
One  refuge  spares,  save  such"  as  rests  perchance 
Within  the  bounteous  bosom  of  the  Church ;  - 

Who,  caring  for  the  frailty  of  her  flock, 
Holds  mercy  measureless  as  heaven  is  high. 
Shuddering,  ourselves  have  listen'd  to  what  breaks 

i 


# 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  G9 

All  bonds  that  bound  to  this  unhappy  man 
The  covenanted  courtesies  of  knights, 
The  loyalties  of  lives  by  faith  knit  fast 
In  spiritual  communion.     What  behoves, 
After  deliberation,  to  award 
In  sentence,  I  to  your  high  counsel  leave, 
Undoubting.    What  may  mitigate  in  aught 
The  weight  of  this  acknowledged  infamy 
Weigh  with  due  balance.     What  to  justice  stern 
Mild-minded  mercy  yet  may  reconcile 
Search  inly.     Not  with  rashness,  not  in  wrath, 
Invoking  from  the  right  hand  of  high  God 

His  dread  irrevocable  angel,.  Death  ; 
Yet  not  unwary  how  one  spark  of  hell, 
If  unextinguish'd,  down  the  night  of  time 
May,  like  the  wreckers'  beacon  from  the  reefs, 
Lure  many  to  destruction  :  nor  indeed 
Unmindful  of  the  doom  by  fire  or  steel 
This  realm's  supreme  tribunals  have  reserved 


70  TANNHAEUSER; 

For  those  that,  dealing  in  damnation,  hold 
Dark  commerce  with  the  common  foe  of  man. 
Weigh  you  in  all  its  circumstance  this  crime  : 
And,  worthily  judging,  though  your  judgment  be 
As  sharp  as  conscience,  be  it  as  conscience  clear.5 

He  euded :  and  a  bitter  interval 

Of  silence  o'er  the  solemn  hall  congeal'd, 

Like  frost  on  a  waste  water,  in  a  place 

Where  rocks  confront  each  other,      Marshall'd  round, 

♦ 

Black-bearded  cheek  and  chin,  with  hand  on  heft, 

a 

Bent  o'er  the  pommels  of  their  planted  swords, 
A  dreary  cirque  of  faces  ominous, 
The  sullen  barons  on  each  other  stared 
Significant.     As,  ere  the  storm  descends 
Upon  a  Druid  grove,  the  great  trees  stand 
Looking  one  way,  and  stiller  than  their  wont, 
Until  the  thunder,  rolling,  frees  the  wind 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OP  THE  BARDS.       71 

That  rocks  them  altogether  ;  even  so, 
That  savage  circle  of  grim-gnarled  men, 
Awhile  in  silence  storing  stormy  thoughts, 
Stood  breathless ;  till  a  murmur  moved  them  all, 
And  louder  growing,  and  louder,  burst  at  last 
To  a  universal  irrepressible  roar 
Of  voices  roaring,   '  Let  him  die  the  death  !' 
And,  in  that  roar  released,  a  hundred  swords 
Rush'd  forward,  and  in  narrowing  circle  sloped 
Sharp  rims  of  shining  horror  round  the  doom'd, 
Undaunted  minstrel.     Then  a  piteous  cry  ; 
And  from  the  purple  baldachin  down  sprang 
The  Princess,  gleaming  like  a  ghost,  and  slid 
Among  the  swords,  and  standing  in  the  midst 
Swept  a  wild  arm  of  prohibition  forth. 
Cowering,  recoil'd  the  angry,  baffled  surge, 
Leaving  on  cither  side  a  horrid  ridge 
Of  rifted  glare,  as  when  the  Red  Sea  waves 


72  TANNHAEUSEE ; 

Hung  heap'd  and  sunder'd,  ere  they  roaring  fell 
On  Egypt's  chariots.     So  there  came  a  hush  ; 
And  in  the  hush  her  voice,  heavy  with  scorn : 

'  Or  shall  I  call  you  men  ?  or  beasts  ?  who  seem 
No  nobler  than  the  bloodhound  and  the  wolf 
Which  scorn  to  prey  upon  their  proper  kind  ! 
Christians  I  will  not  call  you !  who  defraud 
That  much-misapprehended  holy  name 
Of  reverence  due  by  such  a  deed  as,  done, 
Will  clash  against  the  charities  of  Christ, 
And  make  a  marr'd  thing  and  a  mockery 
Of  the  fair  face  of  Mercy.     You  dull  hearts, 
And  hard !  have  ye  no  pity  for  yourselves  ? 
For  man  no  pity  ?  man  whose  common  cause 
Is  shamed  and  sadden'd  by  the  stain  that  falls 
Upon  a  noble  nature  !     You  blind  hands, 
Thrust  out  so  fast  to  smite  a  fallen  friend! 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        73 

Did  ye  not  all  conspire^  whilst  yet  he  stood 
The  stateliest  soul  among  you,  to  set  forth 
And  fix  him  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  men  ? 
Content  that  he,  your  best,  should  bear  the  brunt, 
And  head  the  van  against  the  scornful  fiend 

That  will  not  waste  his  weapons  on  the  herd, 
But  saves  them  for  the  noblest.     And  shall  Hell 
Triumph  through  you,  that  triumph  in  the  shame 
Of  this  eclipse  that  blots  your  brighest  out, 
And  leaves  you  dark  in  his  extinguish'd  light  ? 
Oh,  who  that  lives  but  hath  within  his  heart 
Some  cause  to  dread  the  suddenness  of  death  ? 
And  God  is  merciful ;  and  suffers  us, 
Even  for  our  sins'  sake  ;  and  doth  spare  us  time, 
Time  to  grow  ready,  time  to  take  farewell! 
And  sends  us  monitors  and  ministers — 

Old  age,  that  steals  the  fullness  from  the  veins  ; 
And  griefs,  that  take  the  glory  from  the  eyes  ; 
And  pains,  that  bring  us  timely  newa  of  death  ; 
And  tears,  that  teach  us  to  be  glad  of  him. 


74.  TANNHAEUSER; 

For  who  can  take  farewell  of  all  hjs  sins 
On  such  a  sudden  summons  to  the  grave? 
Against  high  Heaven  hath  this  man  sinn'd,  or  you  ? 
Oh,  if  it  be  against  Iiigh  Heaven,  to  Heaven 
Remit  the  compt !  lest,  from  the  armoury 
Of  The  Eternal  Justice  ye  pluck  down, 
Heedless,  that  bolt  The  Highest  yet  witholds 
From  this  low-fallen  head, — how  fall'n  !  how  low ! 
Yet  not  so  fall'n,  not  so  low  fall'n,  but  what 
Divine  Redemption,  reaching  everywhere, 
May  reach  at  last  even  to  this  wretchedness, 
And,  out  of  late  repentance,  raise  it  up 
With  pardon  into  peace.' 

She  paused  :  she  touch'd, 
As  with  an  angel's  finger,  him  whose  pride 

Obdurate  now  had  yielded,  and  he  lay, 
Vanquished  by  Pity,  broken  at  her  feet. 
She,  lingering,  waited  answer,  but  none  came 
Across  the  silence.     And  again  she  spake  : 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       75 


1  Oh,  not  for  him  alone,  and  not  for  that 
Which  to  remember  now  makes  life  for  mc 
A  wilderness  of  homeless  griefs,  I  plead 
Before  you  ;  but,  0  Princes,  for  yourselves  ; 
For  all  that  in  your  nobler  nature  stirs 
To  vindicate  Forgiveness  and  enlarge 
The  lovely  laws  of  Pity  !     Which  of  you, 
Here  in  the  witness  of  all-judging  God, 

Stands  spotless  ?     Which  of  you  will  boast  himself 

More  miserably  injured  by  this  man 

Than  I,  whose  heart  of  all  that  lived  in  it 

He  hath  untenanted  ?     Oh  horrible  ! 

Unheard  of!  from  the  blessed  lap  of  life 

To  send  the  soul,  asleep  in  all  her  sins, 
Down  to  perdition  !     Be  not  yours  the  hands 

To  do  this  desperate  wrong  in  sight  of  all 

The  ruthful  faces  of  the  Saints  in  Heaven.' 


76  TANNHAEUSER ; 

She  passionately  pleading  thus,  her  voice 
Over  their  hearts  moved  like  that  earnest  wind 
That,  labouring  long  against  some  great  night-cloud, 

Sets  free,  at  last,  a  solitary  star, 

Then  sinks  j  but  leaves  the  night  not  all  forlorn 

Ere  the  soft  rain  o'er  comes  it. 

.  This  long  while 
Wolfram,  whose  harp  and  voice  were  overborne 
By  burly  brawlers  in  the  turbulence 
That  shook  that  stormy  senate,  stood  apart 
With  vainly-vigilant  eye,  and  writhen  hands, 
All  in  mute  trouble  :  too  gentle  to  approve, 

Too  gentle  to  prevent,  what  pass'd  :  and  still 
Divided  in  himself  'twixt  sharpest  grief 
To  see  his  friend  so  fallen,  and  a  drear 
Strange  horror  of  the  crime  whereby  he  fell. 
So,  like  a  headland  light  that  down  dark  waves 
Shines  o'er  some  sinking  ship  it  fails  to  save, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  77 

Look'd  the  pale  singer  down  the  lurid  hall. 
But  when  the  pure  voice  of  Elizabeth 
Ceased,  and  clearlighted  all  with  noble  thoughts 
Her  face  glow'd  as  an  angel's,  the  sweet  Bard, 
Whose  generous  heart  had  scaled  with  that  loved  voice 
Up  to  the  lofty  levels  where  it  ceased, 
Stood  forth,  and  from  the  dubious  silence  caught 
And  carried  up  the  purpose  of  her  prayer  ; 
And  drew  it  out,  and  drove  it  to  the  heart, 
And  clench'd  it  with  conviction  in  the  mind, 
And  fix'd  it  firm  in  judgment. 

From  deep  muse  - 
The  Landgrave  started,  toward  Tannhauser  .strode , 
And,  standing  o'er  him  with  an  eye  wherein 
Salt  sorrow  and  a  moody  pity  gleam'd, 
Spake  hoarse  of  utterance  : 

1  Arise!  go 'forth  ! 
Go  from  us,  mantled  in  the  shames  which  make 


78  TANNHAEUSER; 

Thee,  stranger  whom  mine  eye  henceforth  abhors, 
The  mockery  of  the  man  I  loved,  and  mourn. 
Go  from  these  halls  yet  holy  with  the  voice 
Of  her  whose  intercession  for  thy  sake, — 
If  any  sacred  sorrow  yet  survive 
All  ruin'd  virtues, — in  remorse  shall  steep 
The  memory  of  her  wrongs.     For  thee  remains 
One  hope,  unhappiest !  reject  it  not. 
There  goeth  a  holy  pilgrimage  to  Rome, 

Which  not  yet  from  the  borders  of  our  land  - 
Is  parted  ;  pious  soul's  and  meek,  whom  thou 
Haply  may'st  join,  and  of  those  holy  hands, 

Which  sole  have  power  to  bind  or  loose,  receive 

t 
Remission  of  thy  sin.     For  save  alone 

The  hand  of  Christ's  high  Yicar  upon  earth 

A  hurt  so  heinous  what  may  heal  ?     What  save 

A  soul  so  fall'n  ?     Go  forth  upon  thy  ways, 

Which  are  not  ours :  for  we  no  more  may  mix 


OR,  TIIE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  79 

Congenial  minds  in  converse  sweet,  no  more 
Together  pace  these  halls,  nor  ever  hear 
Thy  harp  as  once  when  all  was  pure  and  glad, 

Among  the  days  which  have  been.     All  thy  paths 
Henceforth  be  paths  of  penitence  and  prayer, 
Whilst  over  ours  thy  memory  moving  makes 
A  shadow,  and  a  silence  in  our  talk. 
Get  thee  from  hence,  0  all  that  now  remains 
Of  one  we  honour 'd !     Till  the  hand  that  holds 
The  keys,  of  heaven  hath  oped  for  thee  the  doors 
Of  life  in  that  far  distance,  let  mine  eye 
See  thee  no  more.     Go  from  us  !' 

Even  then, 
Even  whilst  he  spake,  like  some  sweet  miracle, 

From  darkening  lands  that  glimmer'd  through  the  doors 
Cam.e,  faintly  heard  along  the  filmy  air 
That  bore  it  floating  near,  a  choral  chant 


80  TANNHAEUSER  ; 

Of  pilgrims  pacing  by  the  castle  wall ; 
And  '  salvum  mefac  Domine1  they  sung 
Sonorous,  in  the  ghostly  going  out 
Of  the  red-litten  eve  along  the*  land. 

Then  like  a  hand  across  the'heart  of  him 

That  heard  it,  moved  that  music  from  afar, 

And  beckon'd  forth  the  better  hope  which  leads 

A  man's  life"  up  along  the  rugged  road 

Of  high  resolve.     Tannhauser  moved,  as  moves- 

The  folded  serpent  smitten  by  the  spring 

And  stirr'd  with  sudden  sunlight,  when  he  casts 

His  spotted  skin,  and  renovated,  gleams 

With  novel  hues.     One  lingering  long  look, 

Wild  with  remorse  and  vague  with  vast  regrets, 

He  lifted  to  Elizabeth.     His  thoughts 

Were  then  as  those  dumb  creatures  in  their  pain 

That  make  a  language  of  a  look.     He  toss'd 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       81 

Aloft  his  arms,  and  down  to  the  great  doors 

With  droop'd  brows  striding,  groan'd  '  To  Rome !  to  Rome !' 

Whilst  the  deep  hall  behind  him  caught  the'  cry 

And  drove  it  clamorous  after  him,  from  all 

Its  hollow  roofs  •reverberating  '  Rome  !' 

A  fleeting  darkness  thro'  the  lurid  arch  ; 

A  flying  form  along  the  glare  beyond  ; 

And  he  was  gone.     The  scowling  Eve  reach'd  out 

Across  the  hills  a  fiery  arm,  and  took 

Tannhauser  to  her,  like  a  sudden  death. 

So  ended  that  great  Battle  of  the  Bards, 
Whereof  some  rumour  to  the  end  of  time 
Will  echo  in  this  land. 

And  voided  now 
I  Of  all  his  multitudes,  the  mighty  Hall 
Dumb,  dismally  dispageanted,  laid  bare 


82  TANNHAEUSER; 

'  His  ghostly  galleries  to  the  mournful  moon  ; 
And  night  came  down,  and- Silence,  and  the  twain 
Mingled  beneath  the  starlight.     Wheel'd  at  will 
The  flitter-winged  bat  round  lonely  towers 
Where,  one  by  one,  from  darkening  casements  died 
The  taper's  shine  ;  the  howlet  from  the  hills 
Whoop'd  :  and  Elizabeth,  alone  with  Night 
And  Silence,  and  the  Ghost  of  her*  slain  youth, 
Lay  lost  among  the  ruins  of  that  day. 

As  when  the  buffeting  gusts,  that  adverse  blow 
Over  the  Caribbean  Sea,  conspire 

Conflicting  breaths,  and,  savagely  begot, 

The  fierce  tornado  rotatory  wheels, 

Or  sweeps  centripetal,  or,  all  forces  join'd, 

Whirls  circling  o'er  the  madden'd  waves,  and  they 

Lift  up  their  foaming  backs  beneath  the  keel 

Of  some  frail  vessel,  and,  careering  high 


OR,  THE"  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  83 

Over  a  sunken  rock,  with  a  sudden  plunge 
Confound  her, — stunn'd  and  strain'd,  upon  the  peak 
Poising  one  moment,  ere  she  forward  fall 
To  float  dishelm'd,  a  wreck  upon  the  waves  : 
So  rose,  engender 'd  by  what  furious  blasts 
Of  passion,  that  fell  hurricane  that  swept 
Elizabeth  to  her  doom,  and  left  her  now 
A  helmless  hull  upon  the  savage  seas 
Of  life,  without  an  aim,  to  float  forlorn. 

Longwhile,  still  shuddering  from  the  shock  that  jarr'd 

The  bases  of  her  being,  piteous  wreck 

Of  ruin'd  hopes,  upon  her  couch  she  lay, 

Of  life  and  time  oblivious  ;  all  her  mind, 

Lock'd  in  a  rigid  agony  of  grief, 

Clasping,  convulsed,  its  unwept  woe  ;  her  heart 

Writhing  and  riven  ;  and  her  burllienM  brain 

Blind  with  the  weight  of  tears  that  would  not  flow. 


84  TANNHAEUSER ; 

0-' 

But  when,  at  last,  the  healing  hand  of  Time 
Had  wrought  repair  upon  her  shatter'd  frame  j 
And  those  unskill'd  physicians  of  the  mind — 
Importunate,  fond  friends,  a  host  of  kin — 
Drew  her  perforce  from  solitude,  she  pass'd 
Back  to  the  world,  and  walk'd  its  weary  ways 
With  dull  mechanic  motions,  such  as  make 
A  mockery  of  life.     Yet  gave  she  never, 
By  weeping  or  by  wailing,  outward  sign 

Of  that  great  inward  agony  that  she  bore  ; 
For  she  was  not  of  those  whose  sternest  sorrow 
Outpours  in  plaints,  or  weeps  itself  in  dew  ; 
Not  passionate  she,  nor  of  the  happy  souls 
Whose  grief  comes  temper'd  with  the  gift  of  tears. 

So,  through  long  weeks  and  many  a  weary  moon, 

Silent  and  self-involved,  without  a  sigh, 

She  suffer'd.     There,  whence  consolation  comes, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  85 

She  sought  it — at  the  foot  of  Jesu's  cross, 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  Virgin-spouse, 
And  in  communion  with  the  blessed  Saints. 
But  chief  for  him  she  pray'd  whose  grievous  sin 
Had  wrought  her  desolation  ;  God  besought 
To  touch  the  leprous  soul  and  make  it  clean  ; 
And  sued  the  Heavenly  Pastor  to  recall 

The  lost  sheep,  wander'd  from  the  pleasant  ways, 
Back  to  the  pasture  of  the  paths  of  peace. 
So  thrice  a  day,  what  time  the  blushing  morn 
Crimson'd  the  orient  sky,  and  when  the  sun 
Glared  from  mid-heaven  or  welter'd  in  the  west, 
Fervent  she  pray'd  ;  nor  in  the  night  forewent 
Her  vigils  •  till  at  last  from  prayer  she  drew 
A  calm  into  her  soul,  and  in  that  calm 
Heard  a  low  whisper — like  the  breeze  that  breaks 

The  deep  peace  of  the  forest  ere  the  chirp 
Of  earliest  birds  salutes  the  advent  Da}-  — 

Thrilr  through  her,  herald  of  the  dawn  of  Hope. 


86  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Then  most  she  loved  from  forth  her  leafy  tower 
Listless  to  watch  the  irrevocable  clouds 
Roll  on,  and  daylight  waste  itself  away 
Along  those  dreaming  woods,  whence  evermore 
She  mused,  'He  will  return  ;'  and  fondly  wove 
Her  webs  of  wistful  fantasy  till  the  moon 
Was  high  in  heaven,  and  in  its  light  she  kneePd, 
A  faded  watcher  through  the  weary  night, 

A  meek,  sweet  statue  at  the  silver  shrines, 
In  deep,  perpetual  prayer  for  him  she  loved. 

And  from  the  pitying  Sisterhood  of  Saints 
Haply  that  prayer  shall  win  an  angel  down 
To  be  his  unseen  minister,  and  draw 
A  drowning  conscience  from  the  deeps  of  Hell. 

Time  put  his  sickle  in  among  the  days. 
Blithe  Summer  came,  and  into  dimples  danced 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE,  BARDS.  s7 

The  fair  and  fructifying  Earth,  anon 

Showering  the  gather'd  guerdon  of  her  play 

Into  the  lap  of  Autumn  ;  Autumn  stored 

The  gift,  piled  ready  to  the  palsied  hand 

Of  blind  and  begging  Winter  ;  and  when  he 

Closed  his  well-provender'd  days,  Spring  lightly  came  . 

And  scatter'd  sweets  upon  his  sullen  grave. 

And  twice  the  seasons  pass'd,  the  sisters  three 

Doing  glad  service  for  their  hoary  brother, 

And, twice  twelve  moons  had  wax'd  and  waned,  and 

twice 
The  weary  world  had  pilgrim'd  round  the  sun, 
When  from  the  outskirts  of  the  land  there  came 
Humour  of  footsore  penitents  from  Rome 
Returning,  jubilant  of  remitted  sins. 

So  chanced  it,  on  a  silent  April  eve 

The  westering  sun  along  the  Wartburg  vale 


88  TANNHAEUSEE ; 

Shot  level  beams,  and  into  glory  touch'd 
The  image  of  Madonna — where  it  stands 
Hard  by  the  common  way  that  climbs  the  steep — 
The  image  of  Madonna,  and  the  face 
Of  meek  Elizabeth  turn'd  towards  the  Queen 
Of  Sorrows,  sorrowful  in  patient  prayer  ; 
When,  through  the  silence  and  the  sleepy  leaves, 
A  breeze  blew  up  the  vale,  and  on  the  breeze^ 
Floated  a  plaintive  music.     She  that  heard, 
Trembled  ;  the  prayer  upon  her  parted  lips 
Suspended  hung,  and  one  swift  hand  she  press'd 
Against  the  palpitating  heart  whose  throbs 
Confused  the  cunning  of  her  ears.     Ah  God ! 

Was  this  the  voice  of  her  returning  joy  ? 
The  psalm  of  shriven  pilgrims  to  their  homes 

Returning  ?    Ay  !  it  swells  upon  the  breeze 
The  '  Nunc  Dimittis1  of  glad  souls  that  sue 
After  salvation  seen  to  part  in  peace. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        89 

Then  up  she  sprung,  and  to  a  neighbouring  copse 
Swift  as  a  startled  hind,  when  the  ghostly  moon 
Draws  sudden  o'er  the  silver'd  heather-bells 
The  monstrous  shadow  of  a  cloud,  she  sped ; 

Pausing,  low-crouch'd,  within  a  maze  of  shrubs, 
Whose  emerald  slivers  fringed  the  rugged  way 
So  broad,  the  pilgrim's  garments  as  they  passed 
"Would  brush  the  leaves  that  hid  her.     And  anon 
They  came  in  double  rank,  and  two  by  two, 
With  cumber'd  steps,  with  haggard  gait  that  told 
Of  bodily  toil  and  trouble,  with  besoil'd 
And  tatter'd  garments ;  natheless  with  glad  eyes, 
Whence  look'd  the  soul  disburthen'd  of  her  sin, 
Climbing  the  rude  path,  two  by  two  they  came. 
And  she,  that  watch'd  with  what  intensest  gaze 
Them  coming,  saw  old  faces  that  she  knew, 
And  every  fnco  turn'd  skywards,  while  the  lips 
l'our'd  out  the  heavenly  psalm,  and  every  soul 


90  TANNHiEUSER ; 

Sitting  seraphic  in  the  upturned  eyes 

With  holy  fervour  rapt  upon  the  song. 

And  still  they  came  and  pass'd,  and  still  she  gazed  ; 

And  still  she  thought,  '  Now  comes  he  !'  and  the  chant 

"Went  heavenwards,  and  the  filed  pilgrims  fared 

Beside  her,  till  their  tale  well-nigh  was  told. 

Then  o'er  her  soul  a  shuddering  horror  crept, 

And,  in  that  agony  of  mind  that  makes 

Doubt  more  intolerable  than  despair, 

With  sudden  hand  she  brushed  aside  the  sprays, 

And  from  the  thicket  lean'd  and  look'd.     The  last 

Of  all  the  pilgrims  stood  within  the  ken 

Of  her  keen  gaze — save  him  all  scann'd,  and  he 

No  sooner  scann'd  than  cancell'd  from  her  eyes  ■ 

By  vivid  lids  swept  down  to  lash  away 

Him  hateful,  being  other  than  she  sought. 

So  for  a  space,  blind  with  dismay,  she  paused, 

But,  he  approaching,  from  the  thicket  leapt, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       01 

Clutch'd  with  wrung  hands  his  robe,  and  gasp'd,   '  The 

knight 
'  That  with  you  went,  returns  not  ?'     In  his  psalm 
The  fervid  pilgrim  made  no  pause,  yet  gazed 
At  his  wild  questioner,  intelligent 
Of  her  demand,  and  shook  his  head  and  pass'd. 
Then  she,  with  that  mute  answer  stabb'd  to  the  heart, 
Sprung  forward,   clutch'd  him  yet  once  more,  and  cried, 
1  In  Mary's  name,  and  in  the  name  of  God, 
Received  the  knight  his  shrift?'     And,  once  again, 
The  pilgrim,  sorrowful,  shook  his  head  and  sigh'd, 
Sigh'd  in  the  singing  of  his  psalm,  and  pass'd. 


Then  prone  she  fell  upon  her  face,  and  prone 
Within  her  mind  Hope's  shattered  fabric  fell — 
The  dear  and  delicate  fabric  of  frail  Hope 
Wrought  by  the  simple  cunning  of  her  thoughts, 
That,  labouring  long,  through  many  a  dreamy  day 


92  TANNHAEUSER; 

And  many  a  vigil  of  the  wakeful  night, 
Piecemeal  had  rear'd  it,  patiently,  with  pain, 
From  out  the  ruins  of  her  ancient  peace. 
0,' ancient  Peace  !  that  never  shalt  return  ; 
0,  ruin'd  Hope  !  O,  Fancy  !  over-fond, 
Futile  artificer  that  build'st  on  air, 
Marr'd  is  thy  handiwork,  and  thou  shalt  please 
With  plastic  fantasies  her  soul  no  more. 


So  lay  she  cold  against  the  callous  ground. 
Her  pale  face  pillow'd  on  a  stone,  her  eyes 
Wide  open,  fix'd  into  a  ghastly  stare 
That  knew  no  speculation  ;  for  her  mind 
Was  dark,  and  all  her  faculty  of  thought 
Compassionately  cancell'd.     But  she  lay 
Not  in  the  embrace  of  loyal  Death,  who  keeps 
His  bride  for  ever,  but  in  treacherous  arms 
Of  Sleep  that,  sated,  will  restore  to  Grief 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.        93 

Her,  snatcli'd  a  sweet  space  from  his  cruel  clutch. 
So  lay  she  cold  against  the  callous  ground, 
And  none  was  near  to  heed  her,  as  the  sun, 
About  him  drawing  the  vast-skirted  clouds, 
Went  down  behind  the  western  hill  to  die. 

Now  Wolfram,  when  the  rumour  reach'd  his  ears 

That,  from  their  quest  of  saving  grace  return'd, 

The  pilgrims  all  within  the  castle  court 

Were  gather'd,  flock'd  about  by  happy  friends, 

Pass'd  from  his  portal  swiftly,  and  ran  out 

And  join'd  the  clustering  crowd.     Full  many  a  face, 

Wasted  and  wan,  he  recogniz'd,  and  clasp'd 

Full  many  a  lean  hand  clutching  at  his  own, 

Of  those  who,  stretch'd  upon  the  grass,  or  propp'd 
Against  the  boulder-stones,  were  press'd  about 
By  weeping  women,  clamorous  to  unbind 
Their  sandal-thongs  and  bathe  the  bruised  fee  1 . 


94  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Then  up  and  clown,  and  swiftly  through  and  through, 

And  round  about,  skirting  the  crowd,  he  hurried, 

With  greetings  fair  to  all  ;  till,  fill'd  with  fear, 

Half-hopeless  of  his  quest,  yet  harbouring  hope, 

He  paused  perplex'd  beside  the  castle  gates. 

There,  at  his  side,  the  youngest  of  the  train, 

A  blue-eyed  pilgrim  tarried,  and  to  him 

Turn'd  Wolfram  questioning  of  Tannhauser's  fate  ; 

And  learnt  in  few  words  how,  his  sin  pronounced 

Deadly  and  irremediable,  the  knight 

Had  faded  from  before  the  awful  face 

Of  Christ's  incensed  Vicar  ;  and  none  knew 

Whither  he  wander'd,  to  what  desolate  lands, 

Hiding  his  anguish  from  the  eyes  of  men. 

Then  Wolfram  groan'd,  and  clasp'd  his  hands,  and  cried 

1  Merciful  God  !'  and  fell  upon  his  knees 

In  purpose  as  of  prayer — but,  suddenly, 

About  the  gate  the  crowd  moved,  and  a  cry 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       95 

Went  up  for  space,  when,  rising,  he  beheld 

Four  maids  who  on  a  pallet  bore  the  form 

Of  wan  Elizabeth.     The  whisper  grew 

That  she  had  met  the  pilgrims,  and  had  learn'd 

Tannhauser's  fate,  and  fall'n  beside  the  way. 

And  Wolfram,  in  the  ghastly  torchlight,  saw 

The  white  face  of  the  Princess  turn'd  to  his, 

And  for  a  space  their  eyes  met ;  then  she  raised 

One  hand  towards  Heaven,  and  smiled  as  who  should  say, 

1  0  friend,  I  journey  unto  God  ;  farewell !' 

But  he  could  answer  nothing  ;  for  his  eyes 
Were  blinded  by  his  tears,  and  through  his  tears 
Dimly,  as  in  a  dream,  he  saw  her  borne 
Up  the  broad  granite  steps  that  wind  within 
The  palace  ;  and  his  inner  eye,  entranced, 
Saw  in  a  vision  four  great  Angels  stand, 
Expectant  of  her  spirit  at  the  foot 
Of  flights  of  blinding  brilliancy  of  stairs 


96  TANNHAEUSER ; 

Innumerable,  that  through  the  riven  skies 

Scaled  to  the  City  of  the  Saints  of  God. 

Then,  when  thick  night  fell  on  his  soul,  and  all 

The  vision  fled,  he  solitary  stood 

A,  crazed  man  within  the  castle-court ;  ' 

Whence  issuing,  with  wild  eyes  and  wandering  gait, 

He  through  the  darkness,  groaning,  pass'd  away. 

All  that  lone  night,  along  the  haunted  hills, 
By  dizzy  brinks  of  mountain  precipices, 
He  fleeted,  aimless  as  an  unused  wind 
That  wastes  itself  about  a  wilderness. 

Sometimes  from  low  brow'd  caves,  and  hollow  crofts 
Under  the  hanging  woods,  there  came  and  went 
A  voice  of  wail  upon  the  midnight  air, 
As  of  a  lost  soul  mourning  ;  and  the  voice 
Was  still  the  voice  of  his  remember'd  friend. 
Sometimes  (so  fancy  mock'd  the  fears  she  bred  !) 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       97 

He  beard  along  the  lone  and  eery  land 
Low  demon  laughters  ;  and  a  sullen  strain 
Of  horror  swell'd  upon  the  breeze  ;  and  sounds 
Of  wizard  dance,  with  shawm  and  timbrel,  flew 
Ever  betwixt  waste  air  and  wandering  cloud 
O'er  pathless  peaks.     Then,  in  the  distance  toll'd, 
Or  seem'd  to  toll,  a  knell :  the  breezes  dropp'd  : 
And,  in  the  sudden  pause,  that  passing  bell 
With  ghostly  summons  bade  him  back  return 
To  where,  till  dawn,  a  shade  among  the  shades 
Of  Wartburg,  watching  one  lone  tower,  he  saw 
A  light  that  waned  with  all  his  earthly  hopes. 
The  calm  Dawn  came  and  from  the  eastern  cliff, 
Athwart  the  glistening  slopes  and  cold  green  copse, 
Call'd  to  him,  careless  of  a  grief  not  hers  ; 
But  he,  from  all  her  babbling  birds,  and  all 
Her  vexing  sunlight,  with  a  weary  heart 
Drew  close  the  darkness  of  the  glens  and  glades 


98  TANNHAEUSER ; 

About  him,  flying  through  the  forest  deeps. 

And  day  and  night,  dim  eve  and  dewy  dawn, 

Three  times  returning,  went  uncared  for  by  ; 

And  thrice  the  double  twilights  rose  and  fell 

About  a  land  where  nothing  seem'd  the  same, 

At  eve  or  dawn,  as  in  the  time  gone  by. 

But,  when  the  fourth  day  like  a  stranger  slipp'd 

To  his  unhonour'd  grave,  God's  Angel  pass'd 

Across  the  threshold  of  the  Landgrave's  hall, 

And  in  his  bosom  bore  to  endless  peace 

The  weary  spirit  of  Elizabeth. 

Then  in  that  hour  when  Death  with  gentle  hand 

Had  droop'd  the  quiet  eyelids  o'er  the  eyes 

That  Wolfram  lov'd,  to  Wolfram's  heart  there  came 

A  calmness  like  the  calmness  of  a  grave 

Wall'd  safe  from  all  the  noisy  walks  of  men 

In  some  green  place  of  peace  where  daisies  grow. 

His  tears  fell  in  the  twilight  with  the  dews, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.       09 

Soft  as  the  dews  that  with  the  twilight  fell, 

When,  over  scarr'd  and  weather-wounded  walls,, 

Sharp-jagged  mountain  cones,  and  tangled  quicks, 

Eve's  spirit,  settling,  laid  the  land  to  sleep 

In  skyey  trance.     Nor  yet  less  soft  to  fuse 

Memory  with  hope,  and  earth  with  heaven,  to  him, 

Athwart  the  harsher  anguish  of  that  day, 

There  stole  with  tears  the  tender  human  sense 

Of  heavenly  mercy.     Through  that  milder  mood, 

Like  waifs  that  float  to  shore  when  storms  are  spent, 

Flow'd  to  his  heart  old  memories  of  his  friend 

O'erwoven  with  the  weed  of  other  griefs — 

Of  other  griefs  for  her  th?.t  grieved  no  more, 

And  of  that  time  when,  like  a  blazing  star 

That  moves  and  mounts  between  the  Lyre  and  Crown, 

Tannluiusor  shone  ;  ere  sin  came,  and  with  sin 

Sorrow.     And  now  if  yd  Tannhauser  lived 

None  knew  :  and  if  lie  lived,  what  hope  in  lifi 


100  TANNH  ABUSER; 

And  if  he  lived  no  more,  what  rest  in  death  ? 
But  every  way  the  dreadful  doom  of  sin. 

Thus  musing  much  on  all  the  mastery 
Of  life,  and  death,  and  love  that  will  not  die, 
He  wander'd  forth,  incurious  of  the  way  ; 
Which  took  the  wont  of  other  days,  and  wound 
Along  the  valley.     Now  the  nodding  star 
Of  even,  and  the  deep  the  dewy  hour 

Held  all  the  sleeping  circle  of  the  hills  j 
Nor  any  cloud  the  stainless  heavens  obscured, 
Save  where,  o'er  Hoersel  folded  in  the  frown 
Of  all  his  wicked  woods,  a  fleecy  fringe 
Of  vapour  veil'd  the  slowly  sinking  moon. 
There,  in  the  shade,  the  stillness,  o'er  his  harp 
Leaning,  of  love,  and  life,  and  death  he  sang 
A  song  to  which  from  all  her  aery  caves 
The  mountain  echo  murmur'd  in  her  sleep. 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  101 

But,  as  the  last  strain  of  his  solemn  song 
Died  off  among  the  solitary  stars, 
There  came  in  answer  from  the  folded  hills 
A  note  of  human  woe.     He  turn'd,  he  look'd 
That  way  the  sound  came  o'er  the  lonely  air ; 
And,  seeing,  yet  believed  not  that  he  saw, 
But,  nearer  moving,  saw  indeed  hard-by, 

Dark  in  the  darkness  of  a  neighbouring  hill, 
Lying  among  the  splintcr'd  stones  and  stubs 
Flat  in  the  fern,  with  limbs  diffused  as  one 
That,  having  fallen,  cares  to  rise  no  more, 
A  pilgrim  ;  all  his  weeds  of  pilgrimage 
Hanging  and  torn,  his  sandals  stain'd  with  blood 
Of  bruised  feet,  and,  broken  in  his  hand, 

His  wreathed  staff. 

And  Wolfram  wistfully 
Look'd  in  his  face,  and  knew  it  not.     '  Alas  ! 


102  TANNHAEUSER; 

Not  him/  he  murmur'd,  'not  my  friend  !'     And  then, 
'What  art  thou,  pilgrim?  whence  thy  way?  how  fall'n 
In  this  wild  glen?  at  this  lone  hour  abroad 
When  only  Grief  is  stirring?7     Unto  whom 
That  other,  where  he  lay  in  the  long  grass, 
Not  rising,  but  with  petulant  gesture,  '  Hence ! 
Whate'er  I  am,  it  skills  not.     Thee  I  know 
Full  well,  Sir  Wolfram  of  the  Willow-brook, 
The  Well-beloved  Singer  ! 7 

Like  a  dart 
From  a  friend's  hand  that  voice  thro'  Wolfram  went : 
For  memory  over  all  the  ravaged  form 
Wherefrom  it  issued,  wandering,  fail'd  to  find 
The  man  she  mourn'd  ;  but  Wolfram,  to  the  voice 
No  stranger,  started  smit  with  pain,  as  all 
The  past  on  those  sharp  tones  came  back  to  break 
His  heart  with  hopeless  knowledge.     And  he  cried, 
1  Alas,  my  brother  !'     Such  a  change,  so  drear, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  103 

In  all  so  unlike  all  that  once  he  was 

Show'd  the  lost  knight  Tannlniuscr,  where  he  lay 

Fallen  across  the  split  and  morscll'd  crags 

Like  a  dismantled  ruin.     And  Wolfram  said, 

1  0  lost !  how  comest  thou,  unabsolved,  once  more 

Among  these  valleys  visited  by  death, 

And  shadow'd  with  the  shadow  of  thy  sin  V 

Whereto  in  scorn  Tannliauser,   '  Be  at  rest 

0  fearful  in  thy  righteousness !  not  thee, 

Nor  grace  of  thine,  I  seek.' 

Speaking,  he  rose 
The  spectre  of  a  beauty  waned  away  ; 
And,  like  a  hollow  echo  of  himself 
Mocking  his  own  last  words,  he  murmur'd,    '  Seek  ! 
Ala>!  what  seek  I  here,  or  anywhere  ? 
Whose  way  of  life  is  like  the  crumbled  stair 
That  winds  and  winds  about  a  rnin'd  tower, 
And  leads  no-whithcr  ' 


104    -  TANNHAEUSEK; 

But  Wolfram  cried,   '  Yet  turn  ! 
For,  as  I  live,  I  will  not  leave  thee  thus. 
My  life  shall  be  about  thee,  and  my  voice 

Lure  scared  Hope  back  to  find  a  resting-place 
Even  in  the  jaws  of  Death.     I  do  adjure  thee, 
By  all  that  friendship  yet  may  claim,  declare 
That,  even  though  unabsolved,  not  uncontrite, 
Thy  soul  no  more  hath  lapsed  into  the  snare 
Of  that  disastrous  sorcery.     Bid  me  hail, 
Seen  through  the  darkness  of  thy  desolation, 
Some  light  of  purer  purpose  ;  since  I  deem 
Not  void  of  purpose  hast  thou  sought  these  paths 
That  range  among  the  places  of  the  past ; 
And  I  will  make  defeat  of  Grief  with  such 
True  fellowship  of  tears  as  shall  disarm 
Her  right  hand  of  its  scorpions  ;  nor  in  vain 
My  prayers  with  thine  shall  batter  at  the  gates 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  105 

Of  Mercy,  through  all  antagonisms  of  fate 
Forcing  sharp  inlet  to  her  throne  in  Heaven.' 

Whereat  Tannhciuser,  turning  tearless  eyes 
On  Wolfram,  murmur'd  mournfully,  '  If  tears 
Fiery  as  those  from  fallen  seraphs  distill'd, 
Or  centuries  of  prayers  for  pardon  sigh'd 
Sad,  as  of  souls  in  purgatorial  glooms, 
Might  soften  condemnation,  or  restore 
To  her,  whom  most  on  earth  I  have  offended, 
The  holy  freight  of  all  her  inuocent  hopes 
Wreck'd  in  this  ruin'd  venture,  I  would  weep 
Salt  oceans  from  these  eyes.     But  I  no  more 

May  drain  the  deluge  from  my  heart,  no  more 

On  any  breath  of  sigh  or  prayer  rebuild 

The  rainbow  of  discovenanted  Hope. 

Thou,  therefore,  Wolfram — for  her  face,  when  mine 

Is  dark  for  ever,  thine  eyes  may  still  behold — 


106  TANNHAEUSER; 

Tell  her,  if  thou  unblamed  may'st  speak  of  one 
Sign'd  cross  by  the  curse  of  God  and  cancell'd  out, 
How,  at  the  last,  though  in  remorse  of  all 
That  makes  allegiance  void  and  valueless, 
To  me  has  come*,  with  knowledge  of  my  loss, 
Fealty  to  that  pure  passion,  once  betray'd, 
Wherewith  I  loved,  and  love  her.' 

There  his  voice, 
Even  as  a  wave  that,  touching  on  the  shore 
To  which  it  travell'd,  is  shiver'd  and  diffused, 
Sank,  scattered  into  spray  of  wasteful  sighs, 
And  back  dissolved  into  the  deeper  grief. 

To  whom,  Wolfram,  '  0  answer  by  the  faith 
In  which  mankind  are  kindred,  art  thou  not 
From  Rome,  unhappiest?'     '  From  Rome  ?  ah  me  !' 
He  mutter'd,  '  Rome  is  far  off,  very  far, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  107 

And  weary  is  the  way!'     But  undeterr'd 
Wolfram  renew'd,    '  And  hast  thou  not  beheld 
The  face  of  Christ's  High  Vicar  ?'     And  again, 
'  Pass  on,'  he  mutter'd,  '  what  is  that  to  thee  ?' 
Whereto,  with  sorrowful  voice,  Wolfram,  '  0  all, 
And  all  in  all  to  me  that  love  my  friend !' 
'  My  friend !'  Tannhiiuser  laugh'd  a  bitter  laugh. 
Then  sadlier  said,  'What thou  would 'st know,  once  known, 
Will  cause  thee  to  recall  that  wasted  word 
And  cancel  all  the  kindness  in  thy  thoughts  ; 
Fel  shalt  thou  learn  my  misery,  and  learn 
The  man  so  changed,  whom  once  thou  calledst  "friend," 
Thai  unto  him  the  memory  of  himself 
Is  as  a  stranger.'     Then,  wiili  eyes  that  swam 
True  sorrow,  Wolfram  Btretch'd  his  arms  and  soughl 
To  clasp  Tannhftuser  to  him  :  but  the  otlier 
A\ 'avt'd  liim  ;u\:i\-.  and  witli  a  shoul  thai  sprang 
Fierce  with  self-scorn  from  misery  •>'  depth, 


108  TANNHAEUSER ; 

1  Avaunt !'  lie  cried,  '  the  ground  whereon  I  tread, 
Is  ground  accurst ! 

■  Yet  stand  not  so  far  off' 
But  what  thine  ears,  if  yet  they  will,  may  take 
The  tale  thy  lips  from  mine  have  sought  to  learn  ; 
Then,  sign  thyself,  and  peaceful  go  thy  ways.' 
And  Wolfram,  for  the  grief  that  choked  his  voice, 
Could  only  murmur  '  Speak  !'     But  for  a  while 
Tannhauser  to  sad  silence  gave  his  heart ; 

Then  fetch'd  back  some  far  thought,  sighing,  and  said 

i 

■  0  Wolfram,  by  the  love  of  lovelier  days 
Believe  I  am  not  so  far  fallen  away 

From  all  I  was  while  we  might  yet  be  friends, 
But  what  these  words,  haply  my  last,  are  true  : 
True  as  my  heart's  deep  woe  what  time  I  felt 
Cold  on  my  brow  tears  wept,  aiH.  wept  in  vain, 
For  me,  among  the  scorn  of  alter'd  friends, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  109 

Parting  that  day  for  Rome.     Remember  this  : 
That  when,  in  the  after  3'ears  to  which  I  pass 
A  by-word,  'and  a  mockery,  and  no  more, 
Thou,  honour'd  still  by  honourable  men, 

Shalt  hear  my  name  dishonour'd,  thou  may'st  say, 
"  Greatly  he  grieved  for  that  great  sin  he  sinn'd." 

1  Ever,  as  up  the  windy  alpine  way, 

We  halting  oft  by  cloudy  convent  doors, 

My  fellow  pilgrims  warm'd  themselves  within, 

And  ate  and  drank,  and  slept  their  sleep,  all  night 

I,  fasting,  slept  not ;  but  in  ice  and  snow 

Wept,  aye  remembering  her  that  wept  for  me, 

And  loathed  the  sin  within  me.     When  at  length 

Our  way  lay  under  garden  terraces 

Strewn  with  their  dropping  blossoms,  thick  with  scents, 

Among  the  towers  and  towns  of  Italy, 

What  sumptuous  airs  along  them,  like  the  ghosts 


110  TANNHAEUSER; 

Of  their  old  gods,  went  sighing,  I  nor  look'd 
Nor  linger'd,  but  with  bandaged  eyeballs  prest, . 
Impatient,  to  the  city  of  the  shrine 
Of  my  desired  salvation.     There  by  night 
We  enter'd.     There,  all  night,  forlorn  I  lay 
.  Bruised,  broken,  bleeding,  all  my  garments  torn, 
And  all  my  spirit  stricken  with  remorse 
Prostrate  beneath  the  great  cathedral  stairs. 
So  the  dawn  found  me.     From  a  hundred  spires 
A  hundred  silvery  chimes  rang  joy  :  but  I 
Lay  folded  in  the  shadow  of  my  shame, 
Darkening  the  daylight  from  me  in  the  dust. 
Then  came  a  sound  of  solemn  music  flowing 

To  where  I  crouch'd  ;  voices  and  trampling  feet 
And,  girt  by  all  his  crimson  cardinals, 
In  all  his  pomp  the  sovran  Pontiff  stood 
Before  me  in  the  centre  of  my  hopes  ; 
Which  trembled  round  him  into  glorious  shapes, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BAUDS.  Ill 

Golden,  as  clouds  that  ring  the  risen  sun. 
And  all  the  people,  all  the  pilgrims,  fell 
Low  at  his  sacred  feet,  confess'd  their  sins, 
And,  pardon'd,  rose  with  psalms  of  jubilee 
And  confident  glad  faces. 

1  Then  I  sprang 
To  where  he  paused  above  me  ;  with  wild  hands 
Clutch'd  at  the  skirts  I  could  not  reach ;  and  sank 
Shiveringly  back  ;  crying,  "  0  holy,  and  high, 
And  terrible,  thou  hast  the  keys  of  heaven  ! 
Thou  that  dost  bind  and  dost  unloose,  from  me, 
For  Mary's  sake,  and  the  sweet  Saints,  unbind 
The  grievous  burden  of  the  curse  I  bear." 
And  when  he  question'd,  and  I  told  him  all 
The  sin  that  smoulder 'd  in  my  blood,  how  bred, 
And  all  the  strangeness  of  it,  then  his  face 
Was  as  the  Judgment  Angel's  ;  and  I  hid 
My  own  ;  and,  hidden  from  his  eyes,  I  heard  : 


112  TANNHAEUSER; 

'  ' '  Hast  thou  within  the  nets  of  Satan  lain  ? 
Hast  thou  thy  soul  to  her  perdition  pledged  ? 
Hast  thou  thy  lip  to  HelF|  Enchantress  lent, 
To  drain  damnation  from  her  reeking  cup  ? 
Then  know  that  sooner  from  the  wither'd  staff 
That  in  my  hand  I  hold  green  leaves  shall  spring, 
Than  from  the  brand  in  hell-fire  scorch'd  rebloom 
The  blossoms  of  salvation." 

'  The  voice  ceased, 

-  • 

And,  with  it  all  things  from  my  sense.     I  waked 
I  know  not  when,  but  all  the  place  was  dark  :    . 
Above  me,  and  about  me,  and  within 
Darkness  :  and  from  that  hour  by  moon  or  sun 
Darkness  unutterable  as  of  death 
Where'er  I  walk.     But  death  himself  is  near  ! 
Oh,  might  I  once  more  see  her,  unseen  ;  unheard, 
Hear  her  once  more  ;  or  know  that  she  forgives 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BAEDS.  113 

Whom  Heaven  forgives  not,  nor  his  own  lost  peace  ; 
I  think  that  even  among  the  nether  fires 
And  those  dark  fields  of  Doom  to  which  I  pass, 
Some  blessing  yet  will  haunt  me.' 

Sorrowfully 
He  rose  among  the  tumbled  rocks  and  lean'd 
Against  the  dark.     As  one  that  many  a  year, 
Sunder'd  by  savage  seas  unsociable 

From  kin  and  country,  in  a  desert  isle 

Dwelling  till  half  dishumaniz'd,  beholds 

Haply,  one  eve,  a  far-off  sail  go  by, 

That  brings  old  thoughts  of  home  across  his  heart  ; 

And  still  the  man  who  thinks — '  They  are  all  gone, 
Or  changed,  that  loved  me  once,  and  I  myself 
No  more  the  same' — watches  the  dwindling  speck 
With  weary  eyes,  nor  shouts,  nor  waves  a  hand  ; 
But  after,  when  the  night  is  left  alone, 
A  sadness  falls  upon  him,  and  he  feels 


114  TANNHAEUSEEj 

More  solitary  in  his  solitudes, 
And  tears  come  starting  fast ;  so,  tearful,  stood 
Tannhauser,  whilst  his  melancholy  thoughts, 
From  following  up  far-off  a  waning  hope, 
Back  to  himself  came,  one  by  one,  more  sad 
Because  of  sadness  troubled. 

Yet  not  long 
He  rested  thus  ;  but  murmur'd,  '  Now,  farewell ! 
I  go  to  hide  me  darkly  in  the  groves 
That  she  was  wont  to  haunt ;  where  some  sweet  chance 
Haply  may  yield  me  sight  of  her,  and  I 
May  stoop,  she  pass'd  away,  to  kiss  the  ground 
Made  sacred  by  her  passage  ere  I  die.' 
But  him  departing  Wolfram  held,   '  Vain!  vain  ! 
Thy  footstep  sways  with  fever,  and  thy  mind 
Wavers  within  thy  restless  eyes.     Lie  here, 
0  unrejected,  in  my  arms,  and  rest !' 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS  115 

Now  o'er  the  cumbrous  hills  began  to  creep 

A  thin  and  watery  light :  a  whisper  went 

Vague  through  the  vast  and  dusky-volumed  woods  : 

And,  uncompanion'd,  from  a  drowsy  copse 

Hard-by  a  solitary  chirp  came  cold  : 

While,  spent  with  inmost  trouble,  Tannhauser  lean'd 

His  wan  cheek  pillow'd  upon  Wolfram's  breast, 

Calm,  as  in  death,  with  placid  lips  down  lock'd. 

And  Wolfram  pray'd  within  his  heart,   '  Ah,  God  ! 
Let  him  not  die,  not  yet,  not  thus,  with  all 

The  sin  upon  his  spirit!'  But  while  he  pray'd 

Tannhauser  raised  delirious  looks,  and  sigh'd, 

1  Hearest  thou  not  the  happy  songs  they  sing  me  ? 

Seest  thou  not  the  lovely  floating  forms  ? 

0  fair,  and  fairer  far  than  fancy  fashion'd  ! 

0  sweet  the  sweetness  of  the  songs  they  sing  ! 

For  thee .  .  Ahe.y  sing.  .  .the  goddess  waits  :  for  thee 


116  TANNHAEUSER ; 

With  braided  blooms  the  balmy  couch  is  strewn, 

And  loosed  for  thee .  . .  they  sing . .  .  the  golden  zone. 

Fragrant  for  thee  the  lighted  spices  fume 

With  streaming  incense  sweet,  and  sweet  for  thee 

The  scatter1d  rose,  the  myrtle  crown,  the  cup, 

The  nectar  cup  for  thee  ! . .  .  they  sing.     Return, 

Though  late,  too  long  desired, ...  I  hear  them  sing, 

Delay  no  more  delights  too  long  delayed : 

Turn  to  thy  rest; . .  . they  sing . .  .the  married  doves 

Murmur;  the  Fays  soft-sparMing  tapers  tend  ; 

The  odours  burn  the  purple  bowers  among  ; 

And  Love  for  thee,  and  Beauty,  waits  ! ...  they  sing/ 

'  Ah  me  !  ah  madman  !'  "Wolfram  cried,  '  yet  cram 
Thy  cheated  ears,  nor  chase  with  credulous  heart 
The  fair  dissembling  of  that  dream.     For  thee 
Not  roses  now,  but  thorns  ;  nor  myrtle  wreath, 
But  cypress  rather  and  the  graveyard  flower 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  TIIE  BARDS.  117 

Befitting  saddest  brows  ;  nor  nectar  pour'd, 
But  prayers  and  tears !  For  thee  in  yonder  skies 
An  Angel  strives  with  Sin  and  Death  ;  for  thee 
Yet  pleads  a  spirit  purer  than  thine  own  : 
For  she  is  gone  !  gone  to  the  breast  of  God ! 
Thy  Guardian  Angel  while  she  walk'd  the  earth, 
Thine  intercessionary  Saint  while  now 
For  thee  she  sues  about  the  Throne  of  Thrones, 

Beyond  the  stars,  our  star,  Elizabeth  !' 

* 

Then  Wolfram  felt  the  shatter'd  frame  that  lean'd 

Across  his  breast  with  sudden  spasms  convulsed. 

'  Dead !  is  she  dead  ?'  Tatmhauser  murmur'd,  '  dead  !  . 

r 

Gone  to  the  grave,  so  young  !  murder'd — by  me  ! 
Dead — and  by  my  great  sin  !  0  Wolfram,  turn 
Thy  face  from  mine.     I  am  a  dying  man  I' 
And  Wolfram  answer'd,  '  Dying  ?  ah,  not  thus! 
1  Yet  make  one  sign  thou  dost  repent  the  post', 


118  TANNHAEUSER; 

One  word,  but  one  !  to  say  thou  hast  abhorr'd 
The  false  she  devil  that,  with  her  damned  charms, 
Hath  wrought  this  ruin  ;  and  I,  though  all  the  world 
Roar  out  against  thee,  aye  !  though  fiends  of  hell 
Howl  from  the  deeps,  yet  I,  thy  friend,  even  yet 
Will  cry  them  "  Peace!"  and  trust  the  hope  I  hold 
Against  all  desperate  odds,  and  deem  thee  saved/ 
Whereto  Tannhauser,  speaking  faintly,  '  Friend, 
The  fiend  that  haunts  in  ruins  through  my  heart 
Will  wander  sometimes.     In  the  nets  I  trip, 
When  most  I  fret  the  meshes.     These  spent  shafts 
Are  of  a  sickly  brain  that  shoots  awry, 
Aiming  at  something  better.     Bear  with  me. 
I  die  :  I  pass  I  know  not  whither  :  yet  know 
That  I  die  penitent.     0  Wolfram,  pray, 
Pray  for  my  soul !  I  cannot  pray  myself. 
I  dare  not  hope  :  and  yet  I  would  not  die 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  119 

W  thout  a  hope,  if  any  hope,  though  faint 
And  far  beyond  this  darkness,  yet  may  dwell 
In  the  dear  death  of  Him  that  died  for  all.' 

He  whispering  thus  ;  far  in  the  Aurorean  East 

The  ruddy  sun,  uprising,  sharply  smote 

A  golden  finger  on  the  airy  harps 

By  Morning  hung  within  her  leafy  "bowers  ; 

And  all  about  the  budded  dells,  and  woods 

With  sparkling-tassell'd  tops,  from  birds  and  brooks 

A  hundred  hallelujahs  hail'd  the  light. 

The  whitethorn  glisten'd  from  the  wakening  glen  : 

O'er  golden  gravel  danced  the  dawning  rills  : 
All  the  delighted  leaves  by  copse  and  glade 
Gamboll'd  ;  and  breezy  bleatings  came  from  Hocks 
Far  off  in  pleasant  pastures  fed  with  dew. 

But  whilst,  unconscious  of  the  silent  change 


120  TANNHAEUSER; 

Thus  stol'n  around  him,  o'er  the  dying  bard 
Hung  Wolfram,  on  the  breeze  there  came  a  sound 
Of  mourning  moving  down  the  narrow  glen  j 
And,  looking  up,  he  suddenly  was  ware 
Of  four  white  maidens,  moving  in  the  van 
Of  four  black  monks  who  bore  upon  her  bier 
The  flower-strewn  corpse  of  young  Elizabeth. 
And  after  these,  from  all  the  castled  hills, 
A  multitude  of  lieges  and  of  lords  ; 
A  multitude  of  men  at  arms,  with  all 
Their  morions  hung  with  mourning  ;  and  in  midst, 
His  worn  cheek  channell'd  with  unwonted  tears, 
The  Landgrave,  weeping  for  Elizabeth. 
These,  as  the  sad  procession  nearer  wound, 
And  nearer,  trampling  bare  the  feathery  weed 
To  where  Sir  Wolfram  rested  o'er  his  friend, 

Tannhiiuser  caught  upon  his  dying  gaze  ; 
And  caught,  perchance,  upon  the  inward  eye, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  121 

Far,  far  beyond  the  corpse,  the  bier,  and  far 
Beyond  the  widening  circle  of  the  sun, 
Some  sequel  of  that  vision  Wolfram  saw : 
The  crowned  Spirit  by  the  Jasper  Gates ; 
The  four  white  Angels  o'er  the  walls  of  Heaven  ; 

The  shores  where,  tideless,  sleep  the  seas  of  Time 
Soft  by  the  City  of  the  Saints  of  God. 

Forth,  with  the  strength  that  lastly  comes  to  break 

All  bonds,  from  Wolfram's  folding  arm  he  leapt, 
Clamber'd  the  pebbly  path,  and,  groaning  fell 
Flat  on  the  bier  of  love — his  bourn  at  last ! 
Then,  even  then,  while  question  <|uestion  chased 

About  the  ruffled  circle  <>f  that 

And  all  was  hubbub  by  the  bier,  a  noise 

Of  shouts  ami  hymns  brake  in  Across  the  hills, 

That  now  o'erfloVd  with  hurrying  feel  ;  Hid  came, 

Dash'd  to  the  hip  with  travel,  nnd  dew'd  with  hail 


122  TANNHAEUSER; 

A  flying  post,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore 

A  wither'd  staff  o'erflourish7d  with  green  leaves  ; 

Who, — follow'd  by  a  crowd  of  youth  and  eld, 

That  sang  to  stun  with  sound  the  lark  in  heaven, 

1  A  miracle !  a  miracle  from  Rome  ! 

Glory  to  God  that  makes  the  bare  bough  green  ! ' — 

Sprang  in  the  midst,  and,  hot  for  answer,  ask'd 

News  of  the  Knight  Tannhauser. 

Then  a  monk 

Of  those  that,  stoled  in  sable,  bore  the  bier 

Pointing,  with  sorrowful  hand,  '  Behold  the  man !' 

But  straight  the  other,   •  Glory  be  to  God ! 

This  from  the  Vicar  of  the  fold  of  Christ : 

The  wither'd  staff  hath  flourish'd  into  leaves, 

The  brand  shall  bloom,  though  burn'd  with  fire,  and  thou 

— Thy  soul  from  sin  be  saved  !'     To  whom,  with  tears 

That  nash'd  from  lowering  lids,  Wolfram  replied : 

'  To#him  a  swifter  message,  from  a  source 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  123 

Mightier  than  whence  thou  comest,  hath  been  vouch- 
safed. 

See  these  stark  hands,  blind  eyes,  and  bloodless  lips, 
This  shatter'd  remnant  of  a  once  fair  form, 

Late  home  of  desolation,  now  the  husk 

And  ruin'd  chrysalis  of  a  regal  spirit 

That  up  to  heaven  hath  parted  on  the  wing ! 

But  thou,  to  Rome  returning  with  hot  speed, 

Tell  the  high  Vicar  of  the  Fold  of  Christ 

How  that  lost  sheep  his  rescuing  hand  would  reach, 

Although  by  thee  unfound,  is  found  indeed, 

And  in  the  Shepherd's  bosom  lies  at  peace.' 

And  they  that  heard  him  lifted  up  the  voice 
And  wept.     But  they  that  stood  about  the  hills 
Far  o(T,  not  knowing,  censed  not  to  cry  out, 
'Glory  to  God  that  makes  the  bare  bough  green  !' 
Till  Echo,  from  the  inmost  heart  of  all 


124  TANNHAEUSEE, ; 

That  mellowing  morn  blown  open  like  a  rose 
To  round  and  ripen  to  the  perfect  noon, 
Resounded,  '  Glory  !  glory  l'  and  the  rocks 
From  glen  to  glen  rang  '  Glory  unto  God  !' 

And  so  those  twain,  sever 'd  by  Life  and  Sin, 
By  Love  and  Death  united,  in  one  grave 
Slept.     But  Sir  "Wolfram  pass'd  into  the  wilds  : 
There,  with  long  labour  of  his  hands,  he  hew'd 
A  hermitage  from  out  the  hollow  rock, 
Wherein  he  dwelt  a  solitary  man. 
There,  many  a  year,  at  nightfall  or  at  dawn, 
The  pilgrim  paused,  nor  ever  paused  in  vain, 
For  words  of  cheer  along  his  weary  way. 
But  once,  upon  a  windy  night,  men  heard 
A  noise  of  rustling  wings,  and  at  the  dawn 
They  found  the  hermit  parted  to  his  peace. 
The  place  is  yet.     The  youngest  pilgrim  knows, 


OR,  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BARDS.  125 

And  loves  it.     Three  grey  rocks  ;  and,  over  these, 
A  mountain  ash  that,  mourning,  bead  by  bead, 
Drops  her  red  rosary  on  a  ruin'd  cell. 


So  sang  the  Saxon  Bard.     And  when  he  ceased, 
The  women's  cheeks  were  wet  with  tears  ;  but  all 
The  broad-blown  Barons  roar'd  applause,  and  flow'd 
The  jostling  tankards  prodigal  of  wine. 


THE  END. 


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